Gaspe Journal: Friday August 6

Categories: 2010, Daily Log, Personal, and Travel.

Once again I feel like a foreigner in my own country. My inability / unwillingness to (re?) learn French makes me feel and act differently than I do in all other parts of Canada. I should just try to pass myself off as an American (which is only mostly a lie).

I have forgotten a couple of key things: a water jug, a lamp, scissors [actually didn’t forget the scissors].

I couldn’t light a fire tonight to eat dinner. I am exposed as a fraud or I am very, very tired.

This drive was totally insane. I should have listened to mapquest / Margaret. “Too much!” It’s beautiful (but only at the end) but it’s so unrelentingly long and parts at the end are hairy. At a couple of points there are warning signs that waves could take a car off the road. I can’t believe I have to do it again backwards on Tuesday.

I am being anti-social because of the French thing.

Two weeks without sex because of my ambition. Seven months ago I wouldn’t have cared.

The only thing to do now is “do Forillon” and “do Gaspe” as best I can and enjoy it as much as possible so that Tuesday doesn’t suck so much.

I hear waves. They are beautiful.

Oh yeah, the fees here are pretty bad but the place is in rough shape. I lucked out though, I didn’t get a shitty site (and there are lots of shitty sites).

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  1. I would have laughed out loud so many times but my goddamned tummy hurts too much.

    Two weeks is much, much, much to long to go without sex; I imagine that you are in fucking paradise but you are just too horny to actually look around.

    My advice: get laid before you drive back.

  2. By the way… did I ever mention that I hate hockey? That, I lived two doors down from Don Cherry's childhood home, and my grandpa worked with Del Cherry at the elevator.
    My homes (three places I lived) were less than a block from the Memorial Centre and know a few of Kingston NHL gang – been to the weddings even… but not the games – never the games.
    Last time I went to see a hockey game I was about 10 and overnight at my cousin's so I had to watch Johnny and his team including his best friend Kirk play. I found it cold, boring and uncomfortable and since I did not yet have my own money, I couldn't get a taxi the hell out of the place!

    Kirk, he was such a a cute boy! Awesome swimmer, shy but nice and fun too. We spent hours at the lake at Johnny's cottage. Hands down, Johnny had THE BEST COTTAGE. Anyway Kirk, I tell you about him because he went on to the NHL, and he is a great guy and I had a lot of fun with the guy, as a kid in play and later as a colleague during his stint at Queen's – but see a game… not so much. Thing is, given the fact that I was 10, and had no job and therefore little control over my destiny, I guess I saw an NHL player do their thing, despite my great anti-Canadian attempt at avoiding all things connected to the H word!
    So there it is my own little H story stuck to your blog.

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