I'm a city boy. Who knew?

While the charm of Montpelier is ample, given its status as the capitol of a state overrun by people sporting bumper stickers reading Vermont: Most Likely to Secede and US out of VT (see Second Vermont Republic), and the manner in which even the most apolitical Joe Schmoe is disdainful of even modest departures from face to face direct democracy... It's still little more than a small town. And after a month comprised largely of coffee, Nietzsche, instant-message marathons, The Shield, and low-brow cold sesame noodles... I've smuggled myself across our border with our younger, smarter cousin; landing in Montreal just in time to catch A Silver Mt. Zion's final tour date (which was nothing short of jaw-dropping).

There's an irony in my long journey to Canada: Until about 6pm EST yesterday, I'd spilled across the Western Hemisphere (not to mention a brief residency in the Middle East), without so much as ever setting foot in either of the countries bordering that of my origin. And I suppose it makes it that much better that my sleepless urban withdrawal is momentarily colliding with the European motif of my adolescent years, to the tune of utter elation. Languages melt into each other in mid-sentence, hemmed between structures half-Brooklyn/half-any-European City (take your pick); the character of the communities inhabiting them evident in ways that give the lie to the meanings my country has invested in "democracy." Less than twenty-four hours down, and I'm already dying for someone to tell me there's a dogwalking market here.

On the Metro last night, transferring from the Green to the Orange Line, I made my way over to a somewhat crowded bench. Preparing to unclip by messenger bag, I set down the copy of Jean-Francois Lyotard's The Postmodern Condition that I'd been reading since we set off from Montpelier. The guy sitting in the adjacent spot immediately picked it up, looked the cover over, and shot me an approving nod. I'm not sure why, but that sort of interaction registers with me as rare, to say the least (especially in the US); perhaps in part because we've grown resigned to a certain flavor of alienation, and in part because the range of ideas that enjoy that sort of broad currency in the US is shamefully narrow.

None of which is to romanticize my current surroundings as somehow utopian; given the work of a number of people dear to me, I know well exactly what (we'll say) imperfections lurk (and loom large) here. But it's a fairly jarring reminder that we can do better on our side of the border.