by KRISTIAN GRAVENOR

Old-time sports columnist Tim Burke once advised: "Never turn your back on a man in a Speedo." I still don’t know what he meant. In deference to the old crank, and to appeal to your short-attention spans, I’ve donned a red Speedo to type up my newest random observations.

Michael Sarrazin has moved home from Hollywood. The leading man in such films as They Shoot Horses Don’t They? and the Streisand classic For Pete’s Sake has been seen smokin’n’ drinkin’ at Else’s. I’ve got a fascinating, decade-old, never-before-seen video of Nick Auf der Maur interviewing Sarrazin at Grumpy’s, if anybody’s interested.

The city’s saddest sight: the male prostitute who frequently stands on the Lower Main near Cleopatra’s. Sometimes he holds a teddy bear. Sometimes he weeps openly. His pimp publicly berates him and forces him to stand there even on the coldest days.

I recently wore a ski mask to the bank. Yes, I got noticed.

To those curious if being a loudmouth is genetic: a reader recently sent an article from Time dated May 27,1957, that described my father as "behind-the-scenes boss" of "crass, brassy Midnight," which sat at "the top of the dunghill among Canadian scandal sheets." My progenitor, according to Time, was an "associate of gamblers, who boasts openly about the number of Montreal newsmen and editors he has bought off." "I have more on more people in this city than anyone else," Dad said, adding: "I have one immediate aim. It is to become a multimillionaire." He soon did just that, thanks to a flukey real estate deal. No, wealth didn’t shut him up.

Montrealers are ruminating on the uncharacteristic torpor that has struck since Christmas. Some blame the dour mood on the Iraq situation, others the cold weather, while some think our economic boom has people working more and playing less. But consider that the new dull world order started around the time cosmic guiding light, Clash frontman Joe Strummer, died Dec. 22.

If the Quebec government wants more French immigrants, consider lower taxes. According to brilliant literary lunatic Julie Burchill, "hundreds of thousands of French citizens have flocked [to Britain] over the past decade with one aim - to pay less tax - and seem uncharacteristically pleased with their choice."

Overheard on the metro: "I was watching the Habs on my 13-inch TV for half-an-hour before I realized that what I thought was the puck was just a fleck of dirt on the screen."

Pedestrians were noticeably more reckless in this winter’s colder climes. Cops tell me that three pedestrians were killed by cars this January, compared to one last year. Serious injury totals were similar: 16 serious injuries versus 17 last January. But minor injuries rose from 117 to 135. Cops insist the trend is unrelated to the nasty chill.

One local lawbreaker e-mails me to report his method of stealing gas at a self-serve: "You switch pumps halfway through. Then just pay for the one pump, they usually don’t notice. If caught, just say the first pump broke."

Only thing that bugs me more than the slowness of my new four-slice toaster: freaks at the Little Burgundy pool who wear flotation devices so they can blow by people in the fast lane. Hey guys, why not just attach an outboard motor to your butt?

I recently did a book reading at the Atwater Library with fellow Montreal guide writer Alan Hustak, where somebody pointed out an editing blunder on page 233 of Montreal: Unknown City. It’s meant to say that in 1975, cops closed Montreal’s first topless restaurant, St-Leonard’s Gustini Steak House, thus leading irate owner Esther Deutch to threaten to sue the fuzz… I’ve channelled Count St-Germain to ask who will win the provincial election. He’s not saying, but he assures me that in the future, dog owners will have to hold cups under their dogs as they pee in parks and that motorists will have to wear helmets. :

Comments? kgravy@openface.ca