Dating : Montreal: La Musée de l’Absurde

The museum of the absurd is open every Friday. The enterprise operates in a quiet residential street.

The premises are domicile to six guys. They are creators and curators, though all the artifacts were contributed by many over the years.

I am greeted by the most recent inhabitant; he only moved in three days ago, and I am his first tour.

The living room is stunning.

The apartment contains 20 televisions, all operative. On Friday night people congregate in the cramped premises, and a B movie is run on all the televisions simultaneously. The living room holds three TVs, of which two are shown in the photos (left and middle).

Every surface is a display. The corridor includes the Bacon Rack.

Part of the spirit is satire on media and advertisement.

Photos and magazine collages everywhere. Some known to me, many not.

On to one of the bedrooms. It houses two of the guys. The room is so small that I can only show one bed, and the ceiling above a bunk bed.

Here is one of the above photos larger for better effect. I really cannot do justice to this space.

On to the kitchen.

More artifacts in the kitchen:

More art pieces hanging from the ceiling:

What do the inhabitants do for a living? Some are unemployed. One is a videographer. My guide is a cartographer. He creates maps of new urban developments. The county needs them for inspections and taxation.

I ask whether the collective has rules about living together: who cleans what, etc. He is taken aback by my question. He evidently has not considered this aspect. His eventual answer: I’ll find out.

Uber Drive Back to the Hotel

My French has resurfaced enough that I can follow my Uber driver’s woes. Same as anywhere else. Married twice. The first wife died of cancer. He divorced the second. The latter procedure is still with him.

“I own the house. I own the car. Always have. She just occupied the house; didn’t bring in any money. Drank seven beers in the course of a day, and smoked like a chimney. That goes into the money. She is Brazilian.

I had to pay her $25,000 for the divorce. $25,000! Half the appreciation of the house during the ten years of marriage. That’s the law. What can you do?

I’m done with marriage. I’d like a wife. But I like to come home, turn off my cell phone, and have peace. If I feel adventurous, I have a downtown bar. I drink a few, look at the girls, and take an Uber home.

My family in Portugal keeps asking: when are you going to marry? You need a wife! But I’m done with marriage. If I enter a relationship, I’ll have my house, she’ll have hers. We get together. That’s it. No more marriage. $25,000!”

My driver was pretty clear about matrimony.