Archive for March, 2012

Mid-diluvian Prognosis

Posted in Current Events Class on March 31, 2012 by SLUDGE SODA

Unlikely that anyone aside from local Gibborim can survive out there, for 10 000 cubic meters per second means something, somewhere, to someone.

Perhaps the sturgeon grinding upstream?
Otters lazily floating downstream?

 
A completely different effect is felt in the art deco district, where a lump of rolling pillow feathers, so gentle and cute entertains the masses. Montreal-jetée no. 1 repping 1.763M also means something, somewhere, to someone.

Paul Martin and his fleet of Charlie smuggler’s?
The Korean Fisherman Collective (KFC) swillin’ and castin’ off Parc de la Cité-du-Havre?

Funny how collectively we have no grasp on the key metrics that make local waves work swell. Like weather men and women that claim to forecast the weather as their role in that theatre of the absurd.

 
Here at Sludge Soda, we rely on the weather rock and surmise this might even be the best wave forecasting tool available.
Study forthcoming.

Gulag R&D Department No. 4

Posted in ery on March 28, 2012 by SLUDGE SODA

Not many Norfolk pines round these parts, perhaps you could just substitute in some maple syrup and you’d have yourself a surf wax that you could lick. This is an idea worth exploring as the size of wax bars diminish like a medium fries at McDo.

Jim Beam Econ

Posted in diatribe on March 26, 2012 by SLUDGE SODA

Here, we introduce a key player in the consumerism game: the short term, vulture capitalist, culture milking, small business.

The shop was still closed at 10:30am on a Saturday, with no posted hours, so I returned at 12:30 to try my luck.
“Sorry sir, we don’t have an extra tubes to sell.”
-what the fuck does that mean?
-the anodized chains, throwback jerseys and hideous bars and tape displayed made my stomach weak.
-it didn’t even smell like a bike shop.
-ok, I will just visit a bike store that sells such foreign things.
So, I wheeled the Pacer around in search of another shop.
Success, the other shop sold tubes!
Installed in a jiffy with a butter knife in place of a tyre iron.
Regrettably, I returned to the original shop to see if I could hustle some air.
“no, you can’t use our floor pump, but we have a compressor outside you can use.”
“do you happen to have a presta adapter?”
“yes, but it will cost you $2.50 and you get to keep it!”
“oh, I already have one at my apartment, I suppose I’ll walk back and get it.”
Eyes rolled and an absurd laugh came out.
Shop douche #1 didn’t budge.
And so, I ran home, grabbed my adapter and returned to the shop.
Slowly filling the tubes, watching for bulges, shop douche #2 opens the side door.
“Ugh, sir, can you please hurry up, when the compressor runs, it disturbs the clientele.”
-I grasped for an English translation of his statement.
-look, bro, can I call you bro, we only offer this precious air to people who ride fixies. tips his latte. your speed racer thing has gears and that is so uncool when hamming it up amongst my crew and I who have been riding since yesterday. if you took the water bottle cage off, installed some purple deep v’s, we can talk, but you don’t even have a freshly cut, full sleeve tattoo, your swagger has no game? I don’t even know why I’m talking to you. my friends and I are gonna laugh at your
lack of street cred while we drink PBR’s this evening.

You really have to admire the small business; Unless they possess a shitload of capital upon startup, they are already bent
over, cheeks spread wide when securing a bank loan. Rental terms are often unreasonable due to the high volatility associated with small business. And they base their bottom line on following a trend within an already booming local cycle business.

To their defence, the amount of pot holes on the streets these days do warrant the occassional skid.

“Fuck them and all that they love.” E. Wu

I assume they’re are open on Sunday’s – no REAL bike shop is open on Sunday.

Friends don’t let friends buy their first ever fixid gear bicycle between 2006 and 2012.

Methinks the landlords would agree.

Weather & Chiro Appointment Correlation

Posted in ery on March 22, 2012 by SLUDGE SODA

The human neck is not designed to swivel to every ocular delight the Mont-Royal street scene serves as the mercury approaches 30 degrees. Please have sympathy for those who walk the streets, eyes not glued to their iphone. That is all.

Mordecai and Irving Take a Wrong Turn Down the Right Street

Posted in seasonal life style on March 19, 2012 by SLUDGE SODA

Mordecai and Irving should have known better – they just should have. It seemed there was no escape now. Well, that’s to say, no clean escape. The ice blocks marched down the river like a million Pro-Lifers at the Roe v. Wade trial. They had even missed the island. They never missed that island. Thrashing around on the leeward side of another island, the two eventually made their way to the jump off. But that was of no value either – springtime in Baie James is still springtime in Baie James. Irving suggested to wait it out. It’s probably just a phase. Mordecai considered the idea and laughed absurdly at the thought of passing a summer’s day in the same position; That is with a tall can and shorts, otherwise known as Chinese Brunch.

Meanwhile, the ice continued unabated and toes numbed incrementally. By now, an hour of observation and wishful thinking had passed, but an escape plan had yet to hatch. Increasingly desperate, the duo reached a consensus where they would claw their way down the eddy and attempt a 45 degree cut through current running upwards to 25 km/h. For no apparent reason, Mordecai thought this plan would work. Irving strongly disagreed. But at this point, the struggle for surviving unscathed strong outweighed the dream to keep their respective vessels intact.

Upon reaching the alternative escape route, pessimism mounted to the point where Mordecai and Irving actually stopped laughing at their predicament for a moment. Neither of them had signed up for this. Truth be told, neither of them had even considered this situation. Irving had spent the past two days reveling in the splendid weather and river cruising. Mordecai sat at a desk, observing the splendid weather, dreaming of river cruising. And here they were, stranded in the fog. Did I mention the fog was as thick as a Wendy’s Frosty? It was. But we’ll see how that comes in to play later.

Mordecai mounted a half submerged rock to survey the possibilities of the crossing. Nothing positive to say about it. Minutes passed. Irving didn’t like the thought of the submerged rock posing as a waterfall. The two bantered back and forth, then forth and back. This is why God invented the NSP, Mordecai thought to himself. Finally, they decided to take the plunge. Mordecai went first. Too easy. Irving paddled across. Success. They looked at one another in disbelief.

Through the meat and potatoes of the situation and nothing but cruising back to the shore line. I did mention the fog, didn’t I? Maximum visibility of 15 feet, which is approximately 5 meters for the metrically inclined. There was a general idea where the shore line was, but no one knew for sure. Irving set off at a calm pace and Mordecai trailed behind. Before long, they had completely lost any sense of direction and we actually paddling upstream. They realized this soon enough, based on the difficulty in paddling and revised their tack. Once the current calmed to virtually zero, they lost their last available compass. It must have been 30 minutes by now? The two were stumped. No idea where the shore was, their location and almost zero chance to step aside from drunken pleasure boaters. Warm pee ran down Mordecai’s leg. He had been holding it for this long, but the thought of actually being lost in a fog bank required total calm and an empty bladder.

The slow paddle through the fog bank ensued for another 10 minutes when Irving spotted a boat. The thought escaped them for a moment as the discussion ran from getting lost in the desert to the bleakness of the prairie landscape. Turned out Irving was right. There was a boat and not only that, there was shoreline. And interestingly enough, it was the exact beach they normally exit the water to eat Almando poutine, hit Bronx Books and refuel on Milwaukee Dry. Chanceux en ostie!

how ’bout that weather

Posted in Current Events Class on March 13, 2012 by SLUDGE SODA

a boon (schooled by Birdman – searching for replacement phrase) to the ski season is a blessing to the rio.
a forecasted 19 on sunday that is.

txt rcvd: just crossed the champlain. all the ice in the shipping lane is breaking up. i’m having lunch in ____ on thurs or fri for sure!

txt rcvd: is that the one where jazz gets tossed out of the house or the one where hilary goes shopping?

there you have it, the experts have weighed in, ice free by wednesday afternoon.

makaainana

Posted in Timely on March 13, 2012 by SLUDGE SODA

Or commoner.

Wished to surf Sunday, but arrived to see a little too much ice floe and a late winter crowd of three. One chap even had a bottle of Gatorade and a Hitleresque mile end ‘stache. He was in for the long haul. Maybe even a record? Defaulted to a sunriser munday a.m.. For those who fear available-online river level charts, wave quality is somewhat lacking, but the sun is a nice touch and double digit temperatures don’t hurt either. I heard Mega is already wearing his shorty…

In the business, we call this the late drop to the lua.
Aloha ego. Mahalo inconsistency and El Ray’s MS paint skills.