I enjoyed writing that two-part post about Betting on Zero. This could be the future of Squaremeat: documentary reviews!
I recently sat through another documentary featuring a billionaire. Either we have so many of them, or billionaires are worth documenting on film. The appeal of writing about documentaries is that they welcome a barrage of opinions, and I could opine the heck out of American Factory. This film may warrant another 1000+ word post. For today, however, I’ll make proper use of this blog and document my life in this fair city.
He has chewed the straps of my sports bra in half. Twice. That is incredible.
He has also chewed off and swallowed the knotted end of a hoody drawstring. The knot remained in his belly until he yakked it up three days later. But before his puke revealed what had been wrong with him, his loss of appetite on day one was so disconcerting that Yann and I wasted a hundred dollars on a visit to the vet. Incredible.
Even after this ordeal, he still finds hoody drawstrings irresistible. He’s incredib…ly infuriating.
Aanyway, aren’t these dog ownership-level problems?
My first thought was that Yann had grown impatient of me treating the bedroom as a makeshift office, and had shut off the light as a way to announce bedtime. This wasn’t rational as it’s not his style. If anything, it’s something I would do.
The glow from my notebook was enough for me to see that Yann wasn’t standing at the bedroom door as expected. I jump to conclusions poorly: the wind had knocked out the power, blacking out our building.
Victoria still hasn’t seen a single snowflake. Last night, while Yann and I were outside for our evening toke, feathers snowed on us. Right before that happened, Yann heard a noise and spotted an owl that had perched on the power lines. What about owls’ reputation for being silent predators of the night? The sounds were coming from its latest meal, which was still alive.
In my former home province of Québec, Montréal residents are pushing couches and fridges up those twisty death trap staircases. In the 4 years I lived in Montréal, I never had to move on what Québécois call Moving Day. There, if you decide on a moving date other than July 1st, you’re responsible for finding a new tenant to take over whatever remains of your lease.