shaver

Bloody hell. Anatole came through Montreal last night, so Tyla and I met up with him and George at a little bar for some drinks and chatter. I kept a very close eye on my cell phone, expecting that, at any moment, my immigration saviour would call. Well, it turns out I didn’t give him my cell number, and I missed his call by about 10 minutes. I LOSE.

Today is meetings and meetings and then travel to Toronto for a weekend of visiting and Plan B Househunting. I have now given Mr. Grasmick my cell number, to avoid a repeat of last night’s silliness.

On the surface, Double Fine’s recruiting process looks a lot more entertaining than Sony’s, but I haven’t seen them strut their immigration stuff yet.

I’m taking my laptop to Toronto, so I might update from there. We’ll see if I can be bothered to get the modem stuff working on this silly beast.

(The first of today’s meetings went quite well, and I managed to get train tickets and lunch afterwards. Even the rain wasn’t too bad. I’m on a conference call for the second meeting right now, and I am reminded again of how much I hate being the guy on the speakerphone. Hate. Seethe.)

Joe Grasmick called! O frabjous day! I sent all the details to Mario, and now we’ll see what Sony thinks of financing my entry. Whee!

Again, from the slavering jaws of defeat. Or, at least, the trembling jaws of decision. Got a call from Mario as we were pulling into Toronto, saying that Sony would likely be willing to pony up for the immigration lawyer. He’ll know for sure Monday. I can’t wait.

After we got checked in at the hotel, we wandered over to Emily’s and Christina’s, and from there to College St. Dinner at Utopia, and then we zipped over to Tortilla Flats to meet up with Alasdair and, in fact, Christina. Getting to bed afterwards involved two separate attempts to get settled, with a (false) fire alarm in between.

I had slept a fair bit on the train, so I got to read a fair bit of “The Golden Compass” before drifting off. Pretty darned good so far.