A Hallowe'en costume?

I swear, he does this to himself.

Lantic Sugar

This summer, speaking to Sophie, I said, "you know, I'm tired of telling people I meet casually about my job. I think I may start telling them I'm a janitor or something just to avoid having the same conversation in which they ask probing questions and expect me to have all of the answers to the ills in Inuit society."

Sophie responded, "yeah, why don't I just start saying 'You know Lantic Sugar? Yeah, well, I push a broom there.'?"

Upon further review, we thought that that might be condescending to janitors to say that we did their shitty job. I've had a job or two which I was somewhat ashamed to do, but I worked alongside guys who did it for their primary income, and reasonably happily too. So, we opted for accountant instead. It's a reasonably respected position, and, more importantly, nobody talks to accountants about their jobs, right? We would be free from the typical Northern depressing discussion that revolves around social problems and isolation.

Of course, I never actually worked up the courage to tell someone that I was an an accountant or a janitor. Sophie, for her part, was offered a gig cleaning toilets and chalkboards at the school, but couldn't bring herself to do it. It's really a tough job.

However, I have found it very difficult to write about my experience this year thus far. I will try not to be pessimistic and discouraged like I became last year. I want to write about the good and exciting things happening up here. Of course, painting an idyllic village picture would not be fair either. However, so far, there have been some notably pleasant things happening.

I hope I will overcome my writer's funk and be able to... well, write. Even that was hard.

James.

Brushes

Sorry I haven't been posting. Things are going well. Noah is, well, doing this:

Noah Walks

I wanted to make a bunch of videos this summer showing Noah's progression to his first birthday, but I left my camera in the pocket of my Parka. Sorry, no Nicaragua, Alberta, or Montreal. We do, however, have this:


I'll write something soon.

South

I arrived in Montreal on Saturday.

Since moving to the North, I have considered going South to be one of the hardest parts. After a few months in the same village, I get accustomed to seeing the same 572 people everyday. It's not often that I see someone I haven't seen before, and when I do he/she is easily recognizable as such.

When I arrived at Trudeau airport, I stood around with the Inuit from Wakeham with whom I had traveled, and waited for my luggage. After saying goodbye to them, I began the long, awkward walk to to cab stand. The stimulation was more than a little overwhelming. I saw many nameless faces, and began to look for people whom I recognized.

I thought to myself, "Montreal has three million people, idiot. You don't know anyone here." Nevertheless, I searched and searched for something familiar, and began to realise that all of us, the thousands of us there, were basically alone in a crowd.

The cab ride to Pointe Ste. Charles was equally unsettling. My taxi driver spoke not to me, but to someone on his cell, only pausing to ask me for directions and to inquire whether I wanted the flat rate or to go with the meter. I am usually loathe to have the conversation that everyone has with him, the one about his business, and about how many crazy drivers there are in this city. Nevertheless, not having this interaction alienated me further, forcing me to stare out the window at all of the passing advertisements.

It's the consumerism that really gets me. Last year, when we came down for the union congress (which was a waste of my time, but more on that another day) Sophie and I walked up and down Boulevard St. Laurent and wondered at the plethora of stores selling stuff that people don't really need. How is it possible that these places stay open. Can we really buy that much stuff? I can only imagine how overwhelming coming South would be for an Inuk.

When I arrived at our friends' house (we're subletting our apartment) I had been thoroughly shell-shocked. I was supposed to go to Parc Mont Royal to a good-bye barbeque for a friend who is moving to New Delhi on Wednesday. I called his cell. He didn't answer. I left a message, saying that we wouldn't be coming because Noah had not napped and would probably not be in good spirits by the time we got there. This was true; it would certainly have been a difficult outing. But it wasn't all. After arriving somewhere familiar, where friends were waiting to catch up, I couldn't bring myself to leave the cozy environment. It just takes some time to adjust.

Today, The adjustment period abruptly ended. We went shopping and I spent a thousand dollars.