Midnight Poutine

Posted on May 4, 2008

Dear readers,

I have recently been hired as a writer/photographer for the great Montreal blog Midnight Poutine. This blog is about Montreal culture with a focus on the arts, music, film, fashion and food. I’m going to be contributing to this site twice a week, sometimes with show reviews, sometimes with other stuff.

I’m going to be transplanting the Midnight Poutine posts to this site. You’ll be able to tell them apart from my own by the “Midnight Poutine Transplant” tags on the posts.

If you guys have any great ideas to pitch for things I should write about, please feel free to leave any leads in my comment sections on this site.

Frederictonia

Posted on March 20, 2008

My Almost Near-Death Experience

Posted on December 1, 2007

It all started on Wednesday, when my boss suggested I treat myself to a relaxing lunch at a local restaurant. So I went. I didn’t know what to order, so I went for the special. When I put the “gallette au jambon et fromage” to my lips, I felt this strange tingly feeling. As the food rolled on my tongue, something didn’t taste right. It didn’t taste bad. It just didn’t feel like my taste-buds were diggin’ it at all. But I went on eating. I went back to work. My lips were swollen. My throat felt tight. I didn’t feel good at all. It was a strange type of nausea that wouldn’t go away. I felt terribly weak and shaky. I sat downstairs for like an hour, trying to deal with this feeling. I thought it might be a bad indigestion. I thought of food allergies, but for some reason, in my head, I thought it would magically pass and go away. I don’t have any food allergies. It can’t possibly be getting worse. It’ll pass. I puked. Mega-puked. Then I felt better. I felt better, but I decided to cut my day off short, go home, get into my pj’s and relax while watching movies for the rest of the day. On the cab ride home, my head started getting terribly itchy. I took off my toque and scratched. I got home, got into my pj’s, researched my symptoms online, trying to self-diagnose something else than food allergy. When that turned out inconclusive, I called my mom. I was getting itchier. My face was… itchy. My arms. My back. My legs. My belly. Then it all started swelling up like mad. I took a Benadryl. Then I took another. It wasn’t going away. While talking to my mom, at first I was in denial. Then, when I listened to the sound of my own voice, I realized my throat was closing up. That’s when I realized I had to go to the hospital. Like, right away. I was shaking so bad, I had a hard time dialing the number to the cabbies. I managed to dial. I said it was kind of an emergency. He said he’d do his best to send one off my way right away.

As I heard myself tell the cabby “Take me to the nearest hospital right away please”, I felt strange. Felt like I was in one of those movies when the action suddenly starts escalating and the hero is about to die. Every red light we hit felt like it took hours to turn back to green. At one point, I had to ask the driver if it was going to be much farther. I could feel my body swelling by the minute. I finally got to the hospital and started frantically searching for the ER. The Jean-Talon Hospital is renovating, and that turned the ER entrance into some kind of confusing labyrinth. I couldn’t believe it was a the third floor and NOT right behind the doors beside that red sign that said “URGENCE”. In my mind, you shouldn’t have to try and see the signs for turning left or right for the emergency room.

I finally found it. Elevator. Third floor. Ding! Take a number. Nonononono, I can’t take a number. I take a number anyway, just in case they actually make me wait. All these people waiting and no front desk. Where the hell is the front desk! “Information”. I don’t want information. I want to go where people actually go when it’s a real fuckin’ EMERGENCY. I go to the information desk anyway, because it seems like it’s the only place where I can actually talk to someone in this fuckin’ place.

“Yeah, j’pense que j’fais une allergie alimentaire. J’crois pas que j’peux attendre que vous appellez mon numéro. Quois que j’fais?” (Yeah, I think I’m having an allergic reaction to something I ate. I don’t think I can wait for my number to be called. What do I do?)

“Vous faites des allergies à quoi Madame?” (What are you allergic to m’mam?)

“Ché pas. J’savais pas que j’étais allergique à anything.” (I don’t know. I had no idea I was allergic to anything)

“Il devrait y avoir une infirmière là bas. Allez la voir. Elle devrait pouvoir vous aider.” (There should be a nurse over there. Go see her. She should be able to help you)

Okay. So I go to see the nurse. There’s someone in her office. I wait. I wait. I wait. The guy who was sitting there for triage comes out. Her phone rings. She picks up the phone. I wait. I wait. I look next to me. This little old lady of about 85 years old is bleeding from her face. It looks like she got beat up or something. He case looks like an emergency too. I feel bad going in front of her. The nurse hangs up. I go in and tell her my story. She asks me tonnes of questions. I have no idea what I’m allergic to. Everything’s going so fast. She seems pressed and in a hurry. I’m a little panicked.

She tells me to follow her. She calls out: “I have an allergic reaction here. Do we have a free room?” She takes me to a room. I sit there. I wait. I wait. I swell up. I itch. I scratch. I itch some more. I get lost in the overwhelming feeling of itching and scratching. It feels awesome and it feels terrible all at the same time. Then I look at my belly. It’s RED. It’s full of hives. HIVES EVERYWHERE! Bubbly and unbelievably red HIVES! Oh my god. I’m so swollen. My wrists!!! My wrists are like twice their usual tiny size. They feel like they’re about to explode. I open the door. “Ca va tu prendre du temps cecitte? Parce que je suis vraiment en train d’enfler bad icitte moi là.” (Is it going to be much longer? ‘Cuz I’m really swelling up bad over here). I wait. I wait. Then this pretty lady comes in. I thought she was another nurse at first. Then she introduces herself. She’s a doctor. So pretty.

Questions, Questions, Questions.

Answers, confusion, panic.

She takes me to the Shock Room. They tell me to get undressed and to put on the hospital robe. I get undressed and can’t figure out how that damn thing is supposed to go on. I’m shaking so bad. I can’t figure it out. Where the hell are the sleeves on this fuckin’ thing. I feel like I’m about to pass out. Breathe Sarah, breathe. Snaps. Buttons. Yes. They go…. what the hell is this fuckin’ thing! Oh, there we go. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Tie those up together. Yes. There we go. Hop on up. Oh. I’m so cold! I’m freezing. This nurse comes in. Sticks these electrodes on my chest. God, there’s a lot of those. Five electrodes. And poof! I’m on the screen. The squiggly lines going up and down, that’s my heartbeat. Is 130 okay? What does it mean? “Stick your finger in this please.” It’s that same clippy-thingy every patient is wearing on Grey’s Anatomy. They all wear it. Now it’s my finger in the clippy thing.

“Nurse, give this patient a round of epi.” That patient getting a round of epi… that’s me. “Your heart might start beating really fast. That’s normal. It’s like adrenalin.” She sticks it in my shoulder. They hang a bag. Stick the IV in my arm.

I’m laying in a hospital bed. In the shock room. I’m hooked up to a heart monitor. They’re taking my blood pressure. I’m hooked up to an IV. I’ve got the clippy thing on my finger. They’re sitting in the glass room. Staring at my heart monitor. I should probably call my mom to tell her not to worry. I should probably call my date and tell him not to wait up. Tell my mom not to worry? It’s not like I’m being hospitalized or anything. No. I’m just hooked up to the heart monitor. Watching the drop drip from the bag of clear but yellowish IV meds that’s going straight into my veins. No. Nothing to worry about. Do I get to make a phone call? I’m alone. All these people zapping by me. Others sitting and staring at the monitor. No one talking to me. No conversation. Silence. Murmurs. I can’t stop shaking. My shoulders are seizing. My chest is on a wild ride. I can’t stop my shoulders from shaking. I’m so cold. Nurse, can I get a blanket please. There you go dear. I’m still shaking. I still can’t stop shaking. I’m not cold anymore, but my shoulders are still shaking.

The guy on the other side of my curtain fell from a third floor balcony onto the first one. The railing got him right in the ribs. Man that must hurt. The nurses are talking about the idiots who have been calling out my name for the past 15 minutes in the emergency room waiting area. The nurses called the people idiots. I didn’t. That gets a chuckle out of me. Nobody notices the chuckle. They stare at the monitor.

This guy comes by and asks me a bunch of questions. My admittance. I’m being admitted into a hospital. Me. Admitted. Hospital. I can barely think. What’s my mom’s name? What’s my dad’s name. What’s my dad’s number. My address? What’s my address? Person to contact in case of emergency? Do they need to be in Montreal? Who would they contact in Montreal? Who would come to my rescue? … … …. My mom. She’s in New-Brunswick, yeah. Area code 506. … not 514. no.

They’re going to keep me in for observation for a while. Do I get to make a phone call? All I can think about is making a phone call.

They take me to the other room. I’m lying there alone on the bed, looking at the IV bag. Looking at the old Indian-looking man next to me. Surrounded by his wife and daughter. They leave. The doctors come by to probe him. He doesn’t speak English. He doesn’t speak French. His daughter plays translator… but she’s not there. I look around. I’m right next to the defibrillator. You know that thing they use to shock people back to life… right there. Staring at me in the face. I close my eyes. … I try to read. I can’t read. I can’t focus. I try listening to a bit of music. That works.

There’s a girl at the other end of the room who’s puking her guts out. Gastro. Been there. Done that. Eight days ago, that was me. She groans. She whimpers. The sound her her spitting the bitter taste out of her mouth. Calling out for someone. Anyone to help her. I hear you sister.

In this room, they’re supposed to observe you. This is the above observation level observation room. They’re supposed to watch you. But they don’t hear you crying out for help. And us. The rest of us in this room. All four of us. We can’t do nothing to help you. We can’t even stand to listen to your muffled sounds of agony. They closed the curtain. We can’t see you. But the sounds of your disease make us feel worse. All I can think about is getting away from the puking gastro girl. That poor soul. She should’ve stayed home. Can you catch gastro twice in 8 days? I sure hope not.

I laid there for hours. Interminable hours. I got served hospital food. I imagine this as something slightly more luxurious than a plane ride. I don’t get to lay down in a plane. I don’t get free food in a plane. This is where my tax dollars are going. While I’m eating, a doctor comes by to see me. Pokes and prods me. Asks me how many times I puked today. If I had diarrhea. How many times? Tells me they shouldn’t have served me that food. That I’m not going to be able to stomach it. But I tell him I feel like I should eat this food. He tells me that none of this is good for me. Especially not the meat. Damn. And I was working so hard at getting psyched about this roast. Even just long enough to manage to swallow the rubbery thing down. And that’s not good for me? What the hell are they serving this in a hospital for anyway? Oh, so I can eat the gooey string beans and mashed potatoes? But I definitely can’t touch the meat or desert. Well that’s just great. Thanks a lot doc. Way to suck the fun out of the only good part of the ride. Where’s my pretty doctor anyway?! Joy-kill doc tells me I’m going to get discharged after the meal. That they’re going to make me wait in the waiting room for my blood test results and then send me home. Two hours they’re going to make me wait in a cold chair for the results. Yeah. My IV isn’t even close to being over yet. Still dripping, dropping. Don’t I need this? What the hell is going on in this place. Of course, I keep my mouth shut. I can’t find the strength to contest anything he says.

He comes back a while later. Tells me he made a mistake. That he thought I was Nathalie. I assume Nathalie is gastro-girl in the corner. That he’s sorry about the confusion. Yeah. Way to be sorry doc. Where’s my steak now?! Laying in a garbage can somewhere because some hot-shot couldn’t even be bothered to ask me my name before assuming that gastro chart was mine. Sure, I bet I looked like I’d been to hell and back that day. Yeah. Now that I’ve puked once and had diarrhea a few times I’m just hanging around for the sweet all-expense-paid ride in the tax paid hospital bed. Thanks for checking in doc. I’m really enjoying my stay at Hospital Jean-Talon. Thinking about suggesting it to the best friend and the kids for their next vacation.

They finally moved me out of the room with the gastro girl and the weird looking guy. I don’t even want to think why he’s there and what made him take the sweet trip by ambulance. And then there’s another gastro girl next to me. Damn. I’m so glad when the nurse rolls me out of there. Even if it is just to park me in the hallway, right in front of the nurses’ station for close observation. Yeah, I can’t even get their attention to get a glass of water in this place. Way to observe. 15 nurses, and no one is observing my dying thirst. Go Quebec!

Do I sound bitter? Please, don’t misunderstand my sense of sarcasm and think I’m ungrateful for them saving my life or anything. Sarcastic little thing I am.

They finally freed me at like 9:30 that night. Pretty doctor explained things to me. Said I’d have to wait a while to take the tests. Prescribed me a few things. Now, on top of never being able to leave the house without my asthma puffer, I have to lug around an epi-pen and at least 50 mgs of Benadryl at all times. Way to leave the purse home and not get it stolen again. Since we still don’t really know exactly what caused this episode, I have to be careful about what I eat. Their bet is on the nuts. My bet is on the nuts. So off the nuts I am.

Toni Frissell

Posted on November 21, 2007

I first laid eyes upon this photograph when I purchased the album by my all-time favorite pianist Bill Evans. This album is a wonderful minimalist beauty: piano and Jim Hall on guitar. I have a tendency to not think much of jazz duos. Sure, they’re pretty nice, but they often lack something… sometimes they co-mingle nicely, but without giving you something musically full and complete. This is not the case with this album. Undercurrent is just as beautiful and delicate as the photo that represents it.

This photo struck me so much, that after buying the album, I had it leaning against my wall for months, not being able to get over the  inexplicable beauty of the photo. Today, as I was discussing black & white photography with my friend Alain, I had to turn around to go to Beatnick Records and show him what I considered the best photo of all times. To my surprise, I didn’t even have to explain to him what made this photo a masterpiece… he already agreed with me. When I got home, my obsession with this photograph was revived. I just spent the past two hours staring at this photo. I also did a bit of research on the photographer in question and found out that Toni Frissell (the photographer) was one of the most innovative photographers of her time. She did fashion photography, shot thousands of pictures on the war lines- some of which were the most compelling taken during the war. This is my favorite photo of all times (or at least of what I’ve seen so far).

Cool New Discoveries

Posted on October 16, 2007

So, as many of you probably already know, I’m a big fan of the CBC Radio 3. I spend about 98% of my work week listening to it. Even more so now that they have the web radio running. One of the things that draws me to that Web site is the fact that I get to discover so much new music through them. The second thing is that it’s just so easy and fun to let someone else decide what you’re going to listen to.

So here are a couple new songs and artists that I discovered through them lately.

Tokyo Police Club
This song just has such a great groove and really gets me going. I like the raw feeling of the song and the choice of title. “Your English is Good” is such a great choice of lyrics.

Jenn Grant
I knew of Jenn Grant before, but this song is just so wonderful. It takes me places. It’s completely enchanting. Jenn Grant is also a Maritimer, which just makes it additionally wonderful.

Royal Wood
I really don’t know anything about this band. But I love them, and adore the mellow and melodic feel to this song.

Matt Mays
Another artist from the Maritimes that I knew before but that hooked me with this song. Last Friday afternoon I was listening to Grant Lawrence’s show. I read the blog and comment. I got to chatting with Grant when he was online about airplane etiquette. Then, all of a sudden, he announces this song and says, “This one goes out to Jivemama”. I was surprised and let out a little gasp of excitement. As the song went on with those absolutely wonderful lyrics, I was taken by the words. If you listen, you’ll hear “Spoonful of sugar in Montreal City/When the leaves are falling and look so pretty”. That’s exactly how it feels around here these days. Except the song is so much warmer than the actual weather.

True Blue Potato

Posted on October 14, 2007

True Blue Potato, originally uploaded by Sarah Brideau.

Upon further testing of my new camera with my Macro lens, I decided to take pictures of the potatoes I was cooking for breakfast. I ended up trying out the pictures for about an hour and a half. Now I’m starving and trying to keep myself busy by posting pictures. My mom sent me those potatoes straight from her garden for my birthday (as part of a bigger vegetable filled cooler package). This morning, I’m making True Blue Hash Browns.

The Greatest Game in the World

Posted on October 13, 2007

I recently discovered a new found passion for the game of scrabble. It’s fun. It’s great. And now, you can even play it with your friends on Facebook.
So I’m playing this game with my friend Alain right now. It’s fun to play with him because it doesn’t take him 2 weeks to play his move. This is the only downside of the Scrabulous-fabulousness… sometimes you can wait a while until your friend decides to play his shot.
Anyway. If you look closely at the picture I’ve posted, you’ll be able to see my proudest four moves at the game of Scrabble. If you think a job doesn’t a person make, think again. I may have no more words left in my vocabulary, but what I’ve learned with this new job in the past couple weeks truly shows its colours when it comes down to making my move on Scrabulous. I have put down: TWAT, TITS, WOMAN and LAY… and then, after I’ve taken the picture… I put down TOY.
I swear, I’m not doing it on purpuse. And I’m not even picking the letters by hand. I’m just putting down the first word I see. I’m not even trying to score the biggest points or anything. This is way too much fun to start keeping score (but for the record, I’m winning).
Man. Best game EVER!

So far…

Posted on October 6, 2007

Flickr

Posted on October 2, 2007

Hey friends, I’ve just signed up for a pro account with Flickr. This means unlimited uploads. So from now on, I’m letting go of that stupid photbucket crap and posting pictures on facebook. The quality is just so great on flickr, I couldn’t resist. So to check out my pics on there, go to Flickr.

Please leave comments. I love comments. And most of all, enjoy!

Quote of the Day

Posted on October 1, 2007

While presenting Miracle Fortress at the Polaris Prize Gala last week, Helen Spitzer (sp?) said the following amazing thing:

“Anyone who spends a lot of time listening to records, probably also spends (…) maybe more time than we really should in their heads. And likely not with a whole lot to show for it at the end of the day”.

Story of my life honey, story of my life.

And The Winner Is…

Posted on September 25, 2007

Upcoming shows not to be missed in Montreal

Posted on September 25, 2007

Photoblog #2: Simon Legault Quartet

Posted on August 30, 2007

Photoblog

Posted on August 27, 2007

So my plans as described in the previous post all failed. It sucks but life goes on.
In an effort to heal my broken heart, I went out and bought a Nikon DSLR camera. It’s a beauty and I love it.
So now that I have nothing to say, I’m just going to post pretty pictures. Comments are always welcome.

First loves

Posted on August 1, 2007

This week I wish to honour my first musical loves. Thanks to my aunt/cousin/godmother, I discovered the joys of music at a very young age. This week, I wish to honour my first loves: Madona and Aerosmith. As I was doing the 17 hour inventory at work, at about hour 12, she popped in Jimi Hendrix, which brought me back to my sweet 16. Later on, at about hour 14, she popped in Aerosmith’s notorious Get A Grip. That brought me back to when I was 10 years old. I clearly remember locking myself in my parent’s van when we were camping and blasting this album on for hours on end. It was my refuge. How wonderful it was. That was my fist conscious choice of music ever. Everything else before that was pretty much imposed on me by my surroundings. I feel pretty cool thinking back on it. I’m still so in love with every song on this album to this day. How awesome it was. Steven Tyler’s crazy and theatrical ways is a pretty good initiation to music if you ask me.

But if we go back even further into the musical history of my life, I remember dancing and totally digging this stuff right here below:

I was like 3 or 4 years old. There was also Like a Virgin, which brings us back to my toddler years. What really amazes me is that I remember all this stuff. What crazy memory I have that I don’t remember so much of my teenage years, but that I actually have vivid memories of being like 2 or 3 years old and dancing to Madonna. As an added bonus, I acually truly believes that she’s probably one of the best things that was going on musically in the 80s. So now all I need is a picture of me grooving it to these good old tunes in my pink leg warmers and we’re all set. Oh the good old days!

Band of the Week: Tegan & Sara

Posted on July 20, 2007

This week, Tegan & Sara launched their fifth record “The Con”. Tegan & Sara is a band from Calgary who got their first big break by winning a local music competition (Garage Warz). The identical twins’ trademark is their equal share of lead singing and playing of instruments.

I first came across their music a couple years ago on the soundtrack of Grey’s Anatomy. They sure seemed to love this band as I’m sure at least three of their songs are on the soundtrack. I wasn’t sure at first. I wasn’t hooked right away. But then a couple weeks ago, I was listening to podcast #111 and Grant Lawrence was interviewing them. They were so cool, smart and interesting. And then they played a song off their new album, and I was hooked! I’ve been listening to it back to back for a couple days now. I love it. So good. And more importantly, they’re Canadian!

iPod-ers be warned!

Posted on July 16, 2007

iPods and thunderstorms don’t mix… apparently…

Website of the Day

Posted on July 13, 2007

Band of the Week

Posted on July 2, 2007

Yesterday I was hanging out and thinking about a conversation I had with a friend of mine a couple weeks ago about The Dears. I was talking about disappointments in new albums of bands I love, which were released this past year. He told me to give him an example and I said The Dears. Gang of Losers was pretty disappointing to me, but John, he jumped off his chair when I said that as though I would’ve insulted his own work. I felt bad but couldn’t take my words back. I was horribly disappointed by Gang of Losers. I listened to it a couple dozen times and then was sick sick sick of it. I felt it lacked an edge that the other albums had. Something mildly aggressive and cynical. Maybe the new one was a little too sappy for me. But I stick to my words, it was a big letdown for me. It has it’s qualities, and it’s good enough, but I expected so much more. John then explained to me that it’s normal for a band to release less exciting stuff after they have produced such masterpieces as No Cities Left. I understood, but felt it was a cheap excuse for something important being lost.

But yesterday, I pulled out my old Dears albums (No Cities Left, End of a Hollywood Bedtime Story, and Thank You Good Night Sold Out). Last year I remember listening to these albums incessantly. It’s basically all I listened to all last summer. I got me through quitting smoking and working in a law-firm. These sounds hold very vivid memories for me. I also went to see them live at the Metropolis during the Jazz festival and it was seriously one of the most amazing shows I’ve ever seen. While some shows have a hard time getting on the excitement wagon, this one sits at the peak of Mount Amazing-and-Memorable-Shows-I’ve-Seen.

So, I pulled out the albums yesterday. Haven’t listened to them in almost a year and I wondered why. Why? Because of Gang of Losers. Gang of Losers came out, I listened to it for 2 weeks and then dropped them completely. I’m glad though, because now I go back to this and realize what a masterpiece No Cities Left truly is. That album is blissful musical pleasure from beginning to end. Which brings me to my point: I had to reconsider John’s argument about the masterpiece. Like, what was I expecting after No Cities Left? Another one just like it? Because if I was, I might as well sit there and listen to No Cities Left forever until my head explodes because bands don’t usually release the same album twice in a row. And especially great and magnificent bands. Great and magnificent bands evolve and that means change. Change is sometimes for the best and sometimes not. But I guess it’s like trying to fall in love with someone else when you’re already head over heels for someone else. When you’ve found the one, you stop looking because everything else seems so boring and irrelevant. So maybe No Cities Left was like heartbreakfully magnificent in a way. Maybe I wasn’t over No Cities Left. And now that I listen to it again, it’s all clear to me now, I so wasn’t over it. This album still touches me in a way that makes me want to stop the world from turning and spend a week in bed with it while ordering cheap take-out until my friends wonder if I’m still alive (reference Sex and the City when Carrie meets Aidan).
The Dears are just so great it gives me hope that maybe the next album will possibly be better than Gang of Losers. And it mends my heart a little bit to listen to their old albums and realize that, no, there is no such thing as a band who produces fantastic albums forever without the occasional flop. And it’s not a complete flop either, just lacks the hard cynical edge I so much adored in the other albums. But I guess that, as it is in love, you can’t constantly feel that way (cynical and heartbroken) or else you’re missing out. In that way, Gang of Losers is a logical evolution that steered in a different way, and was in a way necessary. And now that I listen to Gang of Losers afer having immersed myself into the old albums, I actually like it. It’s pretty good.

Apostle of Hustle

Posted on June 29, 2007

I just posted a couple picutres of tonight’s concert. I was soooooo short. And the Montreal Jazz Festival crowd didn’t seem to appreciate his wonderful theateresque performance, but I did. I’m definitly going to have to try and catch him in another setting and totally get intoxicated by his wonderful wonderful music. Follow this link
God I love this man!

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