Evening, my compadres, and welcome to the weekend!
Tonight, to celebrate Day 16 (just about halfway there!), to borrow from
The Terminator, let’s grab the time displacement equipment and change centuries. I guess it’s weird to say it like that, but the strange reality is that the 20th century is now nearly a quarter of a century ago. (Man, that’s just nuts, huh?!)
Anyway, where were we? Oh yeah, we were just about to try out a makeshift version of the Wayback Machine. (No, not the digital archive! Instead, think Marty McFly, maybe?)
I know it feels like a while ago now, but we did trade notes on 12 once. So, let’s make a slight adjustment and miracle ourselves over to downtown Montreal, Canada and my 16th birthday. Beginning to see something?…
C’mon now, gang. The thought of my awkward 16-year-old hide probably merits at least a brief Land-of-Make-Believe moment, no?
You mean you will play along? Cool. I know this is a little weird, and I do appreciate all of you.
So, close your eyes a sec, and when you open them, you’ll be on Sainte Catherine’s Street, certainly one of the more racier thoroughfares anywhere you go on the world’s third-largest continent.
“Racy” is probably being kind. I’ve loved Montreal since I was a kid, but Rue Sainte Catherine wasn’t exactly The Cherry Lane where Jackie Paper and Puff the magic dragon used to hang out together. Let’s go with “squalid” as a more apropos designation for that section of dowtown ‘Treal as it was – perhaps still is? – sometimes known.
Do you see me? Yeah, I’m the kid wearing the faded green rain slicker with splatters of tar on it (story for another day of the countdown!). And those four guys with me are my buddies, and their plan is to give me a birthday surprise.
As we tend to joke when we’re talking through this stuff together, we’re often reminded how different things were then. Yeah, you know the deal: No internet, no cell phones. And jesus, even plenty of rotary telephones!
The point? Let’s just say that the mountaintop for a 16-year-old in the Carter administration was vastly different than the birthday wish lists of today.
So, my 16th birthday present? You ready??
Keep in mind now who and where we were – five clueless suburban kids in a pretty tough section of a foreign city. And remember, too, that the era of instant gratifcation and all its bells and whistles was still a lifetime away. So where were we going to spend my 16th birthday?
Anyone? Anyone?… (Don’t worry, I’ll hold off on channeling John Hughes for now.)
We were going to see a dirty movie.
I suppose that shouldn’t be all that shocking really. We were too young to try to get beer (yes, even in Canada), and we would have been laughed right out of a strip club. (For a very culturally rich city, the place the locals sometimes call “Mont Royal” is not without its extracurriculars.)
When we got to our destination, there was a moment when I thought they might not let us in. The ticket taker, a skinny-as-a-rail dude with bad skin and even worse teeth, decided to mess with us a little bit. Even after close to a half-century, I can still see those godawful rotting teeth.
We did eventually make it into the theater, and although it was virtually desserted, I was a little nervous. The chicken-shit ‘o meter went to a pretty high number for me when I thought I was doing something wrong.
The lights went down, the curtain opened, and what was supposed to be a movie entitiled (‘ya ready for this?) “Maraschino Cherry,” was instead Meatballs with Bill Murray.
True story.
Of course there is an addendum to the above, and maybe we’ll revisit it during the back half of the countdown.
And for those of you keeping score at home, Rue de Peche translates loosely as “Sin Street.”
See you all tomorrow for our midpoint.
JFish
@Copyright 2025 by John L. Fischer