There's a Félix Leclerc tribute running at the Capitole all week and I'm one impulsive click away from claiming a seat tonight. The records came out to help me decide — they're not helping. Tell me I'm going.
There's a Félix Leclerc tribute running at the Capitole all week and I'm one impulsive click away from claiming a seat tonight. The records came out to help me decide — they're not helping. Tell me I'm going.
Halloween is officially coming down off my walls and The Dead South is officially going on my calendar for Wednesday. The takedown involves more stretching than I planned. Tell me I'm not too late on those tickets.
Costume's finally off and the couch has claimed me for the rest of the night. There's a Leonard Cohen tribute at the Grand Théâtre I'm still tempted by — convince me I'll be functional for it.
Halloween night and the devil costume made the final cut — the skirt lost the negotiation, like always. Catch me before the night catches me first.
Fright Crawl is tomorrow and the costume is body paint and a jacket that won't survive past bar one. Tell me I'm making it past the bouncer.
Candlelit Halloween concert at Saint-Dominique on Friday and I've been sitting in the dark since the tickets landed, testing how little light I actually need. The flannel is already losing its case. What should win?
Arch Enemy lands at Videotron Friday and the outfit committee is deadlocked — boots approved, everything else still under review. Front of the rail is still open.
The strange carnival is officially open in the old city and I'm already three treats deep with the fire show still ahead of me. Come find me by the flames.
The Marché de l'Étrange opens tomorrow and I've already pulled the darkest thing I own for it. The choker stays on no matter what else comes off. Tell me I picked right.
Styx at Videotron on Saturday and the vintage tee dug itself out of storage for the occasion — the bottom half is still under negotiation. Settle it for me before I walk out the door.