In honor of Paul Newman, I'm going to go see if Provigo carries Newman's Own salad dressing.
My grandmother LOVED Paul and used to say fantastic sassy-grandma things like "he can leave his shoes under my bed anyday." (One of many B-Kal quotables.)
Speaking of that side of the family, I finally did go to the Atwater Library on the correct day for the McGill library school tour (the oldest lending library in Canada and basically I want to live there), and there we were shown these old books of census records and whatnot for the city of Montreal. All I know about my French-Canadian roots is that my great-great-great grandparents were from, according to the Cambridge Massachusetts census of 1910, "Canada (Fr)" (as opposed to "Canada [Eng]"). Thanks to such detailed record-keeping, I have no idea what city in Canada (Fr), but it would add a nice cinematic touch if it were in fact the city I chose to do my Master's in. I really want to get my paws on those books now. Though letting me loose in an old building with old books is perhaps a little dangerous, as then I am likely to succumb to the uniquely librarian trait of getting high on the smell of musty, century-old books. Trust me, it's not something you want your children to see. And I'm not sure the library staff would appreciate me passing out on the floor or ordering five pizzas to the Nonfiction section.
Also, while I usually try to avoid it, today I used my French because French-Canadian Staples (called Bureau En Gros) is hidden in a maze of connected buildings (as are many shops here; the underground network is not demonstrated very well on Google Maps so it often takes some digging to find the shop you're after) and the security guard I spoke to did not speak much English. My leagues of French teachers would probably not be very proud as most of my French left me at that point and all I could manage was, "Bureau En Gros.... ici?" and showing him the map I printed out. Brilliant.
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