Montreal Riots Day is when, in order to protest police brutality, hordes of grunge kids take to the streets armed with sticks, stones, bats and a few placards in order to display their distaste for heavy handed police actions. They are a sea of long hair and shaved heads (not a people for the middle ground), emblematic denim and multitudes of patches. I am tempted to go down the street and begin writing them up for egregious stereotype perpetration. However I remind myself that they’ll likely be too busy being arrested for vandalism, assault and, you know, rioting, to really get the serious social critiquing that I am laying down on their asses with my novelty tickets. As well, it turns out that neither the police nor the rioters themselves believe that riots are a spectator sport. In a final disappointment, despite what you may have seen on T.V., law enforcement is actually quite reluctant to temporarily deputize citizens, even if they do have their own home-made tazer.
My girlfriend though is currently trapped in a studio where she’s meant to dance tonight (and I’m meant to pay ten dollars to watch her). She phoned and said that outside is riot central and that they might have to lock themselves in and cancel the show. I’m more than a little jealous of her vantage point. Rest assured that if the mob turns angry(er) or into zombies or into angry zombies, I will style myself after the appropriate action hero for my rescue attempt.
Shotgun or stirred?
