I'm Thinking About Seeing the Rabbi

In the wise words of my mother, "A witty sense of humour and your tremendous package won't get you anywhere. You need to have a brain too, honey". My mum never knew the internet, but I'm pretty sure that ageless advice doesn't hold true anymore. At the time, I replied "Why not? It's sure getting Bobby places, and he's not even funny".
I recently came across a list I made a few years ago of all the women who have turned me down. I updated the list, and was reminded of a conversation I used to have as a teenager with my mum. Here is the basic content of said conversation:

"I know there's not very many nice Jewish girls here, but you have to stop shtupping the shiksas. Rabbi Weinstein says he's concerned".
"What does he know"?
"He says he's seen you in the street with the shiksas".
"Bobby's shtupping. I'm not shtupping".
"Are you fagle"?
"No Ma! I'm not fagle. I hang out with girls. Doesn't that tell you that I like girls"?
"You're not shtupping"?
"No".
"Why not? Your shmeckle is very nice".
"You just told me to stop with the shtupping".
"I meant that you should stop with the shiksas".
"So it's okay to shtup a Jewish girl"?
"Bubee, I didn't say that. But you have to find one first".
"Ma! Nobody's shtupping"!
"You just said Bobby's shtupping".
"Why are we talking about Bobby? I thought you said the rabbi was worried about me. I have to do algebra".
"Sit. I want you should eat something".
"Bubee, Mr. and Mrs. Gold have a daughter..."
I sputtered over my soup, "Tina?! She's like, ten years old Ma".
"I'm just saying Sweetie, it might be nice to send good wishes at her bat mitzvah".
"Please. Fifteen year old boys do not go to ten year old girls' bat mitzvahs".
"You went to your cousin's bat mitzvah".
"And my sister came to my briss. What's your point"?
"If you want, pick one shiksa and bring her for dinner. We'll introduce her, and if she is interested, maybe she'll convert".
"I think it's a little early for that. Maybe you should wait until girls are older, like eighteen or twenty".
"It'll be too late then, bubee. What about any of the girls at your bar mitzvah"?
"My bar mitzvah? You mean Bobby's bar mitzvah".
"Well you were there".
"I had to bring a gift to my own bar mitzvah! What kind of bar mitzvah is that"?
"Bubee. Bubee. You know how things were. You and Bobby are twins. I could only afford a bar mitzvah for one of you".
"It was Bobby's mitzvah, not mine".
"Okay, what about the girls at Bobby's bar mitzvah"?
"There were two and Bobby shtupped them both".
"Now now bubee. Is that a bad thing? You should bring one for dinner".
"Ummmmmmm, no".
"I'll still love you if you're fagle".
"Ma! I'm not a fagle. I just don't want to bring home one of Bobby's girlfriends".
"I'll find you a nice girl. What about Jennifer Cohen? She's your age".
"She's waiting for a dentist".
"You could be a dentist".
"No Ma. I want to be a speech therapist".
"Sylvia Green"?
"Oncologist".
"Barbara Thomas"?
"Her parents are shmoozing a guy at Columbia who wants to go into neurology".
"Is that anything like a speech therapist"?
"Ma"!
"Rachel Gorstein is going off to Brandeis".
"That's a slight exaggeration, she's seventeen. They haven't accepted her yet".
"You could make Rachel a very happy girl, Bubee. A nice older woman for you".
"Rachel is going to the senior prom with Moe Weissman".
"And after"?
"Okay. I'll ask Rachel after her prom, but I'm kinda young for her".
"What's not to like about you"?

And it really just goes on from there. I never got a chance to ask Rachel Gorstein home for dinner. I guess I just kinda forgot to ask. So here I am so many years later confronted by a long list of rejections and I'm thinking I should seek some advice from Rabbi Weinstein. My mum told him I was fagle when I was seventeen, so now I've got to have this whole conversation (or something similar) with him. Oy!

Shalom

Yumi, Her Vitz and Pho

I have a reputation as a guy who can't get a date. Trust me, the list goes on and on. My friends like to tease me about it, even my relatives like to tease me now and then. I've heard all the lines. I've even come to expect them, and it doesn't even bother me anymore when a woman says she's not interested. Afterall, why would she be interested? What gets me though, is that I can't even score in my dreams. So when a woman responds "In your dreams!", as they so often do, all I can do is shrug and say, "I should be so lucky".
I don't dream very often, but lately I have been having some pretty vivid dreams. I attribute that to the chinese food combo I ordered on Friday and the copious amounts of MSG therein. The menu says Dinner for 2, as if to mock me but seriously its enough for 6 people with normal appetites. So the rare luxury of dreaming has brought two dreams in the last few months in which I get shot down. I don't remember the exact details of the first dream, but I clearly remember it involved me and a friend who had confided that she was not happy with her marriage. She's totally my type, and I even asked her out once. That's how I learned about the husband. In the dream I guess I figured I had a shot because you know, it was MY dream, but no. She told me that she was not going to leave her man. I mentioned this to a few friends and they laughed, like they always do at my being soltero. That's okay, I knew they'd laugh.
The other night I had a dream about Yumi. She picked me up in her car which could only happen in a dream, and then she treated me to some pho, beef pho to be exact, and then to a movie. Right there I knew I was going to score. She bought me dinner, so I have to put out. That's like a rule or something I heard from my sister. We sat in the back row of a drama geared toward middle-aged people, and as the movie progressed the seats we were in transformed into my queen size bed. Yumi and I were holding hands, possibly because I can remember writing air kanji in her hands at the Picasso exhibit. That's about as steamy as it got, and my friends know why. What could be better than holding hands in a movie theatre in a queen size bed? A lot of things, but I blew it. See, I saved the refrigerated ceramic plates that our spring rolls were served on at the pho restaurant and snuck them in the theatre. While Yumi was watching the film, I slipped a refrigerated plate between the mattress and the small of her back which made her jump. She didn't like that, and she stormed out of the theatre. I jumped out of bed and tried to calm her down. She wasn't listening, she just kept screaming in the street about how I always had to ruin a good moment. She jumped into her black Toyota Vitz and drove off leaving me stranded in the middle of a street I didn't recognize. I woke up then. This answers a few questions, but raises quite a few more important ones like: How can a Toyota Vitz appear in my dream when I've never even seen one before? How did I know that we were eating pho? I've never eaten pho, let alone beef pho.

The Geminis

I didn't watch any films this week, well not in the cinema anyway, but I did catch a gem or two. It's been a whirlwind week, and I couldn't even think about watching movies at the weekend. I would have gone to see Walk the Line with Joaquin Phoenix, but its only on limited release in my city playing at only 2 locations neither of which are close to my flat. As a kid, I was never a big fan of Johnny Cash because he was a singer that my mom liked. What kid likes the same music as their mom? Well, my little brother loves Celine Dion like his mother, but that kid is exceptional. I really got into Johnny Cash when I saw him in an episode of Columbo. I never bought any of his albums, but I really liked his cover of Hurt by Nine Inch Nails. That, and listening to people talk about Cash on the radio for several hours made me appreciate his music a lot more.
Yesterday, I got up to start my Saturday at 7:30a.m. I hustled to class expecting a full day, but since we were ahead and half the class had already left by noon, the teacher let us all go. Sweet. That meant that I would be able to run home and print out the review package for my other course and rip across town to campus for the afternoon exam review session. Stupidly, I drove along 4th (my usual route) but on Saturday, 4th is jammed full of hippies and tourists who like to drive slowly and brake for no reason, turning left at uncontrolled intersections. Seriously people, you can buy wicker baskets and pot any day of the week. Please do it on days when I'm not trying to get someplace. I made it to campus with just enough time to get to class and find a seat. My stupid printer didn't print the review package in order, and there were plenty of packages provided at the lecture hall. Dammit.
As I drove home after the review, I decided that I would stop by my local highbrow video rental store and get Classe Tous Risques, but I had to vote first. I sped home to get my voter card that I had stupidly left on the coffee table instead of bringing it with me to campus. I voted. I totally forgot about renting a movie until I turned on the telly and was subjected to the Gemini Awards. As I courageously tried to prevent gagging, esophogeal spasms and accompanying vomit, I turned off the television and ran out. Why? Why bother with the Geminis? Its not like its a real award, but I guess it makes some important people feel better about working in Canadian television. Don't even get me started on the Junos.
With eyes blurred, and the slight saveur of bile in my mouth I raced blindly through the fog to the video store. I blurted out "Have you got Classe Tous Risques?" I guess my French pronunciation was a little too good for the clerk, because he was about to rent me Class Trip. As I caught my breath, I told him that it had Jean-Paul Belmondo in it.
"Spelling?"
Was I having a bad dream? Had I had a car accident, and was this what Hell was like?
"Ecoute, BEL-MON-DO", and then I sputtered, "It's also got Lino Ventura in it". So totally amazed at my own memory, the room began to spin and I fainted. As I came to, the helpful clerk gave me a nice grin, and said "You've been watching the Geminis, haven't you?"
Classe Tous Risques came out in 1960, and was reviewed in the Times this week for a re-release. Some other reader of the New York Times rented it before me, Bastard. I then proceeded to my second choice, Family Guy Presents: Stewie Griffin - The Untold Story. Strike two. All copies have been rented out since the DVD was released. I had the brill idea that I would finally rent the video that I had specially requested some 8 years ago. The store is the place to go for foreign films, and if they don't have it they will get it for you. No shit. I asked for a movie that wasn't obscure in Europe, but they didn't have it and as promised, found a copy which they bought and kept. Only I never bothered to rent it at the time, but I was going to keep my promise and yesterday was the day. I brought it up to the counter and the guy scanned it.
"$7.49"
"... Wha???" DVDs can be rented for $5.89 so why do I have to pay $7.49 for a lousy VHS?
"Yeeeeeeeeah. It's a red dot", the guy answered.
"What does that mean?"
"That means it's a rarity, irreplaceable, one-of-a-kind".
Strangely, now I felt guilty for requesting this movie in the first place. I had been it's whole reason for existing in the shop, punctuated by the fact that it was a rarity, and I had ignored it all these years. I had to rent it now. The all-star cast further mystified me as to its lack of popularity in America. Richard Bohringer, who played the dark, sage Gorodish in Diva, Philippe Noiret star of Les Ripoux, and Thierry Lhermitte, co-star in Les Ripoux. I just found out that Ripoux 3 was made. I have to see it now. Maybe another time. The film was pretty good, but there were some misogynistic undertones that I wasn't very happy with. Lhermitte plays a womanizer who catches his wife having a revenge affair. He goes to his uncle who is a judge. The uncle knows the perfect guy to knock off the wife, a guy that the judge had let off on two cases of murder some years before. That guy is Bohringer, whose character killed his wife and her boyfriend after a few accidents involving his biplane. The judge decides to blackmail Bohringer's character into doing the job. Along the way, the trio stop at a roadside cafeteria for a meal and witness a murder. A woman and her husband are sitting at another table, and as they try to size up the couple, the three men see the wife shoot her husband. My brother-in-law took my sister on a date to the gas station, twice. See what happens when you take your wife to the gas station for a date? They run off and give the wife an escape. Bohringer, a softy ends up scoring with the murderess, and then she goes on her way. Bohringer doesn't want to kill Lhermitte's wife. He doesn't have the same distaste for women that the judge and his nephew have. Eventually, they catch up with the wife, and Bohringer fakes the shooting. Back in France, Lhermitte begins to regret that his wife has been killed. Bohringer gets him to admit that he wants his wife back, and just like that there she is. She had been following the trio after the fake shooting, and waited to surprise her husband. Okay, the ending was a little trite, but that's French cinema.
A few minutes later, I started to watch a Cantonese film: I Want to be a Model, or in English: Supermodel. My local station plays Cantonese or Mandarin films on Saturday and Sunday nights, with a Bollywood vehicle thrown in on Sunday afternoon. It's one of only two stations that I get because I'm too cheap to get cable. I also refuse to get cable on principle, but that's a pretty weak argument. The reason I was watching the Geminis in the first place is because I only get two channels. When I first discovered this channel, I thought they played some really good Cantonese films. Good acting, good shooting and a little bit of a message thrown in for good measure. But lately, the movies have become crap. Last night's movie sounded like it might have a slim chance of being good, and since it starred Kar Yan Lam as the female lead I thought I'd watch it instead of Saturday Night Live. Lam is a hometown girl who traveled half way around the world to be famous. I have to admire that. This is the standard ugly duckling plot, but instead of using a ridiculous fat suit, Lam starts out a little heavier and then really loses about 20 pounds (I'm guessing) to become the belle of the ball. The film is quite campy, and Lam plays a police officer who busts a crooked ring of modeling promoters. After her success, she is hired to protect Hong Kong's top male model, Mandom and his buddies Freedom and Condom. See? Campy. Mandom is determined to win a pageant against his arch-rival, Hong Kong's number two model, Fantasy. As part of the competition, they have to have a walk off. The best catwalk wins, but there's a twist - its a tandem catwalk and as part of the bet, Fantasy gets to pick Mandom's partner. He picks Lam, the dowdy fake model. Mandom puts Lam on a crash course to modeling and after dieting, exercise, and make up lessons, he has created the next supermodel. Okay, I admit it. I fell asleep at this point. I don't know how the movie ends, but I liked the fact that they didn't use any fat suits and the message of being anorexic and such to be beautiful was flipped on the guys. I kind of wish I had stayed up.

Spanish Coffee

It's been a strange week. Yumi left on Tuesday, and a friend called to set up a date for Thursday. This is unusual for me because I'm not a hot guy, unless you count what my sister says and what her friend Maureen says (but Maureen has a thing for geeks anyway). The strangeness continued when my cousin left a message telling me to watch Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. I bought Robert Downey Jr.'s album after he performed on Oprah, but I don't think I'll see the movie, plus Val Kilmer creeps me out.
I was a little surprised that my friend wanted to get together, and I didn't really know how to take it. I figured that I'd just sorta show up and play it by ear. Well, she didn't whisper any Spanish in my ear which turned out to be good because it wasn't really a date afterall, but it was kinda weird. We sat and talked about nothing for 3 hours. She said that she had wanted to get together for coffee (or maybe something stronger), which at first I thought meant espresso. I thought about it some, and realized that she meant getting together for a drink. I had a few things to take care of that day, namely setting up a line of credit at my bank. When I go to the bank, and to the doctor I wear a suit or something similar. This time, I wore light brown corduroy-like trousers and a chamois-coloured faux suede jacket that I affectionately call my slut jacket. I figured hey why not? I'm at that age (see earlier post), and who am I trying to impress anyway? I went to the bank (late, but not my fault), and bing bang boom got a line of credit for $60,000 just like that. No job, cash poor but a lot of equity and investments - Plus it helps when your sister works for the bank because they give you a break on the interest (or so they say...) I met up with my brother who proceeded to touch my slut jacket with his grimy little grease monkey fingers. I seriously considered placing a few snot rockets on his uniform, but noticed that no smudges had been left on the faux suede so I let it go.
On the way home from the bank, I read a letter from the City to my sister, using my best approximation of what a city clerk sounds like. My sister cut me off and asked me why I'm working in accounting, and not doing voice work. Well, there are a lot of unemployed voice artists out there, and I'd rather be an unemployed accountant and not have an agent. Besides, the last person to take career advice from my sister was Des: Des wasn't happy about his career so my sister asked him what he liked to do. He said he liked to eat, and that he was even good at it. My sister encouraged Des to join the professional eating circuit. Off went Des to practice how many hot dogs he could shove down his throat in five minutes etc. and lo, Des was actually really, really good at eating. He placed highly in a few contests and even won one or two. Sadly, Des entered a pie eating contest that summer, and the poor guy succumbed to a previously undiagnosed allergy to blueberries. Death by pie, not a bad way to go I guess but that's why, in a nutshell, I take career advice from my sister with a grain of salt.
I didn't have to rush about nearly as much as I thought I had to. I went to City Hall and did some research for my sister with regard to the letter I got in the mail. The City is seeking approval to open a small scale pharmacy around the corner from my flat. Ding Ding Ding! As a skeptical property owner, this makes me think that some unscrupulous pharmacist is looking to make some quick money by opening a methadone clinic front in my neighbourhood. I didn't really care, but knew that my sister would, so I did my due diligence and checked out the application. I never actually said "methadone clinic", but that was the first thing the project co-ordinator said to me "It's not going to be a methadone clinic". That made things easy, in fact I'm kinda glad there will be a pharmacy close by. The next closest one I can think of is down in Chinatown, which is kinda far to walk if you need medical attention.
On the way to meet my friend, I bumped into one of my former co-workers in the HR department. She said hello and then started asking me all kinds of questions that I sorta felt were none of her business. I do this thing when people ask me questions I don't want to answer. I lie, except I make up a lie so shocking that the person usually stops asking questions. She asked me what kind of job I was doing now. I told her that I got back into gay porn. Owing to what little I knew of her background, I figured this would get her to shut up. It did. We walked for a bit and then she went her way and I went mine.
I went to meet my friend and we ended up going for coffee. She had come all the way downtown to borrow a CD which I thought was a bit excessive, but some people are real music lovers. So much for "something a little stronger", and my slut jacket. I froze my ass off for nothing. We talked about London and the differences that exist here. Some good, some bad. She said that her partner wanted to move back to London, but that she wouldn't go. I guess any city where earning $46,000 a year, and making ends meet is still a struggle probably makes London one of the least attractive places to live. I tried to convince her that Paris is much nicer. She nearly spit her coffee in my face. She said she'd rather live in dirty old London than dirty old Paris. I'd live in dirty old Paris any day. We talked and talked and talked and talked. I ran out of coffee and offered to buy her a Chantico because she said that there is no way that Chantico is anything close to chocolate con leche. I figured she was wrong and decided to prove it. Chantico is a lot closer than she expected, and said that we needed churros. I told her that I don't do churros. We talked some more, and I asked if she was hungry. She said that the Chantico had filled her up. Okay, I admit it, I didn't understand that. I was waiting for the cafe to kick us out, but it must have been a 24-hour Starbucks or something because the baristas just kept offering us free samples. I was running out of things to say and had given up any hope of watching Survivor but if we weren't going to have dinner together, I had to bail. I figured it was about 10:00 because I don't have a watch, and knowing that she had a long trip ahead of her, I told her that I had to get home. It turned out to be only 9:00 so I was able to salvage the last 40 minutes of The Apprentice. All in all, the day wasn't totally uneventful.

History Will Repeat Itself (even if I don't want it to)

I didn't go to any movies this week. It's turned out to be the worst way to forget my ex, even though I'd rather not. Instead, my seester called me and invited me to the Picasso exhibit in town. Dammit. The last time I went to the VAG, I saw the Matisse show with my ex-girlfriend. For some reason, people like to talk about Matisse and Picasso in the same breath. I guess they were kinda like contemporaries, or they lived in the same area of France or something.
My friend Yumi is going back to Japan in a few days, and she asked me to brunch on Sunday. Since my sister abandoned the plan for a Saturday trip to the gallery, we decided on Sunday. Instead we went to visit my friendly neighborhood realtor who helped me buy my flat and we dropped off some papers for the deal on my sister's new place. The place he was showing was a townhouse that is part of a tower complex. The townhouses are totally hidden from the street and I was amazed to see them there. The whole place reminded me of the London flat in The Constant Gardener. I asked my realtor how often these places come on the market and how much the owners were asking. He said they come available quite regularly and the owners wanted upwards of $400K. Believe me, that is totally reasonable in my town.
We decided to do the gallery on Sunday. I darted around trying to re-schedule brunch and eventually convinced Yumi that if she wanted to see me one last time that she would have to meet me at 10:00a.m. It would have been so much easier if she had slept over. To make it up to her, and since she plans to travel to Spain one day with her mum, I asked her to come to the art gallery with us and learn about a Spanish git. Yumi hardly touched her omelette at brunch, and I started to get a little pissed but then I remembered she was treating me. I had arrived at the restaurant 40 minutes early to guarantee that we had a table. It was the only way we were going to crunch everything into the day. We had to be done everything by 2:00. I'm very organized and motivated when I want to be, and I didn't even need a Red Bull this time. I got a free parking spot and everything was peachy. The restaurant was practically empty when I got there but it filled up in less than 10 minutes. We received extremely prompt service and left.
I love the way Yumi has to climb into my Jeep. Come on, its stock but she still finds it necessary to grip the sport bar and use the side step. I can't really blame her, she had on some really nice boots today that made her butt look really good. She was sick of wearing trainers in the wet weather.
We drove downtown and parked near the gallery. We got there before my sister and her husband. Yumi is really shy and nearly backed out when I told her that she was going to meet my sister. She said she didn't want to bother her and her husband. WTF? The last girl I introduced to my family happens to be the same person who introduced me to Yumi. In her case, I was hoping she would come to my sister's wedding. She gave my sister a gift, but wouldn't come to the wedding. She said she had nothing to wear, but I think it was a fake excuse. It's probably a good thing though because she would have freaked when we were pulled over at a roadblock. The cops sent us on our way, but I can imagine that sort of thing would be freaky for my friend.
At the gallery, Yumi was trying not to fall asleep during the guided tour, but it was pretty good all in all. My sister and her husband left after the tour because he wanted some baby-making time and she had to work later in the afternoon. They should have stayed at the gallery. On the third floor in a different show, there is an installation of photos in a small room where the photos are on the ceiling and you have to lie down on a mattress to see them. I got down and nearly fell asleep myself. I tried to convince Yumi to join me, but she doesn't have sex in public. Prude? Maybe.
Yumi wanted to see Emily Carr's stuff so we went to the top floor, and another trigger hit me. I had visited Emily Carr's home in Victoria with my ex-girlfriend. This stuff just happens, six degrees I guess. Anyway, that didn't upset me. I mentioned to Yumi that I had seen the Andy Warhol exhibit many years ago, and the thing I remember the most is watching a video of Iggy Pop draw a portrait with his butt. His medium was crayon on paper, I guess I watched it because it wasn't immediately apparent that Iggy was drawing, nor that it was Iggy drawing, nor what exactly it had to do with Andy Warhol. I bumped into one of my old friends there. She was watching the video. I bump into her every couple of years. The last time was at church last Christmas. She's doing a thesis in Divinity and plans to be an Anglican priest (priestess?). I'm glad for her, I hope she does it. It's nice to bump into people now and then and see that they are doing something meaningful with their lives. Yumi had no idea who Warhol was, so I dragged her into the gift shop and rifled through his books looking for soup cans. All I could find were pictures of Marilyn Monroe and Mick Jagger.
It was getting close to 3:00 so we went for coffee at a place I had never heard of before, but Yumi knew about it. One thing I don't understand about Yumi is her musical knowledge. She is the same age as I, but she doesn't recognize songs like When Doves Cry by Prince, or really any songs from the 80s. I asked her why she didn't know pop music, she said that she HATED English. I asked her if she knew Alyssa Milano's "Kimi wa Sunshine Boy", a Japanese language chart topper from the mid-80s. She said no. I started to think that Yumi had never heard the radio before, but then Frankie came on and she grinned and pointed to the ceiling. "I know this song", she said. Jokingly I asked, "So you go to gay bars a lot, then?" She said she had never been to a gay bar. Likely story, even I've been to a gay bar (once) -- for the music. Apparently, Relax is a song used in Japanese TV ads. I shudder to think for what. I felt a duty to tell her the story of Holly Johnson and the impact he and his colleagues had on the London music scene in the 80s, but I kept it short. Yumi wasn't interested.
The clock was closing in on four, so Yumi and I went back to the Jeep, paid a sweet $4 for 5 hours of parking. Yumi told me that parking is $6 an hour in Tokyo, but its only $6 a day for earlybirds here. I drove her to her friend's place and only realized it when it was too late really: This was the last time I was going to see Yumi for a long time. I got a little sad, so I went grocery shopping and got a party-size bucket of flan. Actually it was a large format bag of white corn Tostitos. I polished them off in quick order before I knew it, and tried to move on. I guess it was good really. She was only supposed to be here for 2 weeks, but she changed her plans and ended up staying 2 and a half months. I offered to drive her to the airport, but I might have to work that day so today was it. I'm eager to take a vacation some time soon, and now I have a good reason to go to Japan.

The Hot, Older Woman

It’s not working. It’s not working. It’s not working. Last week, I went to watch The Weather Man in an effort to get my ex-girlfriend off my mind. Thanks to the all the archery, it didn’t happen. It was a toss-up between that film and Prime. Prime sold out so I saw the other one. This week, I saw Prime and I made sure that I got to the theatre nice and early. Well, now I’ve got several girlfriends on the brain, and perhaps film is not the best way to forget.
The day started like any other Saturday: I scrambled out of bed at 7:45 so that I could have a nice hot shower before going to my all-day class. I got to class about 5 minutes late. I left the flat at 8:55 and got to class after 9:00, but still before the teacher. I don’t see what the big rush is; my class is a week ahead of schedule.
I sat and talked with a friend from Spain. She mentioned chocolate con leche. It’s like hot chocolate, but thicker and richer. I asked her if it was like Starbucks’ Chantico. She had never heard of it so I felt a duty to educate her. After showing her what it was, and explaining how they make it, she said it’s not the same. Chocolate con leche is only sweet if you dump sugar in it she said. Rosa is Basque, but she speaks Spanish like a real madrideña. Did I mention that I have a thing for certain accents? She could whisper “The prices of sarsaparilla in Barcelona are very low at this moment. It is a hot day, so buy several on the way home” in Spanish in my ear once or maybe twice and my toes would curl.
The class went pretty leisurely until lunch. The entire class went back to the Japanese restaurant. I didn’t like it so much this time. I ordered something different and broke my cardinal rule. Never order combos. These are usually the low cost, high margin items that restaurants depend on to survive, and usually involve more than 1 thing. I ordered it because one of my classmates ordered it last week and she couldn’t finish it. It seemed like a large meal at the time. Except when I ordered it, I didn’t get miso soup and the waitress forgot to give me a cup for tea. The restaurant itself was freezing, and I have a slight problem maintaining body temperature. Always have, and probably always will. I shivered the whole time, and had to listen to the usual conversation about what is the best accounting software to use, or what is the best course to take if I want to learn certain software – blah blah. I noticed my classmate Misako sitting silently across the table from me so I asked her about my second favourite Japanese dish. She had not had it lately, but as soon as we mentioned food, the teacher changed the conversation. She is always interested in trying new types of food. She asked what it was, and my initial explanation of kani miso wasn’t good enough because when I told her that kani miso tastes like liver, she looked at me kind of funny and said, “I’ve never heard of crab meat that tastes like liver”. She didn’t get it. She asked how it is prepared at the restaurant I go to. I couldn’t remember, and couldn’t give a good description of what it is because we were at the dinner table. Jeez, even when I go to the restaurant the waitresses are reluctant to tell me exactly what it is. I found out on my own what it is, but just can’t bring myself to say it at the table. No worries, Misako explained. Kani miso is crab offal. All that stuff inside the top shell that we normally throw out. Some Japanese people eat it, and I have to say that it tastes quite pleasant. If westerners can eat goose liver or veal thymus, then I don’t see anything wrong with eating crab offal, but apparently some people do. I’ve eaten all three, and have to say that they are all very nice. Trigger. Shit. So we drove to and from the restaurant because it was raining and cold outside. My friend Rosannah drove us in her car. She has so many trinkets in her car; I’m surprised she can still fit 5 people in there. She has two trinkets on her rearview mirror, two on her dashboard (one of which spins), and little stuffed puppies jammed across the ledge behind the rear seats looking out the back window. She had a stuffed dog in the backseat which had some funky stuffing in it. I liked it. She also had a pillow in the backseat. I asked her if she sleeps in her car sometimes. I shouldn’t have asked because she could have answered something about comfortable car sex and I didn’t need to hear that.
After class, I tried to make an appointment to get my hair cut. Nobody was answering the phone, so I went out in the cold and rain and walked down to the shop. That’s how badly I wanted to get my hair cut. I went inside and Tony was the only one there. He said that my stylist went to a wedding. Hmm. I suppose I can live with a shaggy do for a few more days, so I’ll go and see Naomi on Monday. I went down to Tinseltown to see what was playing. Shopgirl was the only one that interested me, but I don’t know if I want to watch a Jason Schwartzman movie. I’ve heard that Shopgirl is a lot like Rushmore, and that one kind of upset me, I don’t know why. The Asian Film Festival was also on at Tinseltown, but I passed on the Saturday shows. I went home and did some homework, and then made my way to the Paramount nice and early. I stopped at a Starbucks and got a grande Yukon, to warm me up and cursed when I discovered that Paramount has Seattle’s Best available. I could have had coffee AT the cinema. Coffee is also near the bottom of my list of permissible cinema fare, along with tacos.
I didn’t want to stand in line, so I went straight to the debit machines. This is embarrassing for me. I work with cash, credit and debit cards every damn day, but I can’t manage to use a touch screen interface to buy a ticket. I pick up my Yukon, my brolly and find the nearest employee to help me out. There is actually a person stationed near the debit machines to help with any questions. I’m not sure what prompted the girl to ask me, but the first question out of her mouth was “Is that an American debit card”? Here’s why I am different than most people. I thought, “Sure, why not? If she thinks I’m a tourist, I’ll act like one”. I informed her that no, the card was a local bank card as was clearly visible on the face, so she took me to the next open machine and walked me through. I swear that next time; I’ll be able to do it myself. It’s a damn debit machine. Why does someone have to actually touch the debit card option in order to proceed? There shouldn’t even be an option. Logically, debit card should be the de facto method of payment on a debit machine, no?
Off I go with my stuff with about 25 minutes to spare. I don’t understand the pricing of external vendors in the theatre. I understand that with a captured audience, vendors could get away with charging maybe 10% more than at their other locations. It didn’t seem logical to me that if at the local fast food restaurant on Main St. a burger costs say, $3.89, that the same burger should cost $5.05 at the theatre. Somebody was being gouged. I’m willing to let that slide in the name of supply and demand, but what made me scoff incredulously was that the burger combo was more than twice the cost of just a burger. While there are many competing views to product costing, general wisdom shows that a burger combo should cost less than two burgers. If the burger costs $5.05, then the burger combo would cost $5.05 + fries + drink. The labour cost for the fries and drink are sunk, so the incremental costs should only be the material. The drink (syrup and water and carbonation) costs tops 30 cents. Go ahead and add 15 cents to make the customer feel like they’re being charitable. That brings the total up to $5.50. I don’t know about anybody else, but I’ve never had to buy a potato for $4.50+, but that’s what they were charging. Burger, drink and fries all for upwards of $10.00. I thought that maybe it was that particular vendor only. I strolled around and noticed that the other two fast food outlets were using the same pricing strategies, and it should be worth noting that none of the three offered a full menu. We expect the in-house candy counters to gouge us, so I felt much better about forking over $4.50 for a box of Milk Duds. It’s not every day that one gets to eat Milk Duds, well at least not me. The first time I had Milk Duds was on a trip to the Point Defiance Zoo. My mum belonged to a group that split the cost of a coach with a group of dwarves and we all went to the zoo. My mum told me and my brother to not say anything mean or stupid, so we didn’t because we knew that when we were in a foreign country we really had to listen to her. But that didn’t stop the other group from saying nasty things to me and my brother. I didn’t care, they had reason to be bitter and I had my Milk Duds. I don’t seem to remember any other kids on this trip, maybe one or two, but that was a really cool zoo. I’m not even sure if it was Point Defiance Zoo, but it was in Washington someplace other than Seattle and that’s the only zoo I can think of.
With all the time to spare, I sat down at a table and started to enjoy my Milk Duds. I noticed scads of people filing into the theatre well early so I thought I better hop to it. I walked in to the theatre and the place was already 85% full. Crap. I had to find the first seat I could. I ended up sitting in the second row up from the landing. There was an empty seat between me and the next person, and so I waited. I waited for the inevitable moment that someone comes along and asks me to move because I am solo and they are a pair. Fully prepared to direct them to the pit, the seats that are so close to the screen that one’s neck must recline approximately 135 degrees to see the film, I waited.
Eventually, a really cute girl who has milled around the theatre for about 10 minutes approached me. Bitch. Okay, I speak many languages and I reserve the right to slide in and out of them as often as I see fit, but that doesn’t mean someone else can approach me and use broken English so that I’ll take pity on them. She spoke very quickly as though she had practiced what she wanted to say and needed to say it. She asked me to move down “because you are one, and we are two so that me and my friend can sit together”. There was only one other seat. If I move over one seat, that still leaves only one seat, so how are they going to sit together? I asked her, or at least I tried to ask, “Where is the other person going to sit?” but clearly unfamiliar with the interrogative mode in English, she cut me off after “Where is the other person…” with another rushed response. “She is right here”, pointing behind her shoulder. Apparently now I am also blind. The trailers were playing and I didn’t have time for an ESL lesson so I just said “Whatever” and moved ONE SEAT OVER. There was still one seat lacking. She was very polite and thankful so I didn’t get too pissed. It’s just that I had to move my Yukon, my Milk Duds and my brolly, and it took her 10 minutes to ask in the first place. Her friend, also cute, sat in front of us in another single seat, and then got up and left. WTF? I noticed a perfect solution and then realized that perhaps that’s what the girl had meant to ask in the first place. Her use of the preposition “down” in the context she used made me think that she wanted me to move one seat “over”. Perhaps it would have been better for her to ask me to move “one seat below”. While her friend was away, I leaned over to the girl and asked her in perfect Mandarin, “Do you want your friend to sit here”? All of a sudden she’s speaking perfect English, so I change back to English. Why did she use broken English in the first place? Damn. She duped me. I got up and moved one ROW down, and as usual she was very polite and thankful. Regarding the rest of the audience, there was quite a mix. It was a date movie, a lot of couples in their mid to late 30s, some older in their 40s and 50s, and actually quite a lot of teenagers. There were even a few kids: The film was PG-13.
Like I said, it’s not working. It’s not working because in the second trailer, a forty-foot high reminder of my ex-girlfriend appeared on the screen. A lot of my friends don’t understand when I say that Jennifer Aniston looks like my ex-girlfriend, whom they all know to be Japanese. I guess I should say that Aniston reminds me of my ex. They don’t look alike as if they were twins, but they have the same chin and the same twinkling eyes when they smile. That’s enough for a trigger. Anyway, the first trailer was for a movie starring Queen Latifah, which looks like it might be worth an afternoon, and the second trailer was for the movie with Aniston, Mark Ruffalo, Kevin Costner and several others. It’s a retelling of The Graduate called Rumor Has It. It sounds like it might be good to see. There was a trailer for The Family Stone, which I’ve written about before but which also stars Luke Wilson. If I see the film, I will go to see it for Luke Wilson. Mathew Broderick and Nathan Lane are back in the cinematic adaptation of their Broadway performance of The Producers. Wil Ferrell also stars in the film, along with Uma Thurman who in a 3 minute snippet, made me have a whole new appreciation for garters. I’m not really a big fan of Uma, but Prime changed all that.
As the film opens with a really easy instrumental, I miss the credits because I’m listening too hard to the music to figure out if it was bossa nova. It turned out not to be, but I was able to catch the name Madhur Jaffrey, and then… John Abraham. Just as I was thinking that I’d hit the double jackpot, I looked again. It was not John Abraham, it was Jon Abrahams. Two Bollywood superstars getting near top billing in a Hollywood film? Too good to be true. I have a confession to make – I love Bollywood. Formulaic love stories aside, the real talent lies in the filmi itself. Spontaneous dance numbers? Can’t get enough. Playback singers who are more talented than the actors themselves? Not uncommon. Asha Bhosle? Love her, but I can’t find her albums. Yuge gaps in the sometimes farcical plot? The filmi is usually three hours long to begin with – imagine if they tried to fill in the holes. What I really like is the use of colour in a lot of the filmis. Pristine whites and vibrant reds, yellows, blues, pinks, greens and even browns (my second-favourite colour after green) really catch my eye. The colours, the music, and the babes. The heroines are usually real babes. Sometimes not, but Preity Zinta can’t be in every film can she? I find the Hindi ones easiest to watch, but once in a while I’ll catch one in Bengali, or another language.
Madhur Jaffrey plays the therapist of therapists. The aforementioned Jon Abrahams, plays the best friend of the male lead in the film, and despite my disappointment, makes me wonder why the film isn’t about him. We all have a friend like him. If we don’t, we are the friend. He is the friend who causes a lot of trouble for you, but is always there when you need him. For example, his character Maurice has a fetish for cream pies – or more precisely throwing cream pies in the faces of women who won’t give him a second date. Meryl Streep is the female co-lead and plays a therapist whose son is having a relationship with one of her clients. The client is Rafi Gardet, played by Uma Thurman. Now, I haven’t seen too many movies with Uma Thurman in them, but I never understood why people think she is gorgeous. Well, now I am one of those people. She is totally gorgeous in this film. Rafi’s boyfriend David is played by Bryan Greenberg, and I have a strong suspicion that he is the reason so many teen-aged girls came to watch the movie. I’d have to say that I can think of a few of my female friends who would like to share a bottle of manischewitz with Dave. The only thing I couldn’t believe about his character was the amount of chest hair he had. He plays a 23 year old, but I had more chest hair than that when I was 17. So part of the movie deals with Dave’s mum’s neuroses about things like manischewitz. His mother must serve the wine chilled, which is apparently funny. I don’t know about that. I used to know a very rich old man who swore by putting a few ice cubes in his red wine. He said ice made red wine taste better because it mimicked cellar temperature. He was a little sketchy overall, but that was one of the things I figured must be true. Why would he make that up? Besides, my cocktail book has several recipes for summer coolers, all which involve red wine and ice cubes. When Lisa realizes that her client is sleeping with Dave, she starts to freak out and does a little dance groping her necklace and smoothing down her front which totally reminds me of one of my aunts. I pity the day she discovers that her son is dating older women. I was expecting quite a few triggers in this film, and actually got more than I bargained for. During one of Rafi’s therapy sessions, she tells her counselor that Dave has a beautiful penis and that she would like to knit it a hat. Funniest line of the whole movie. I’ve been told that I have a beautiful penis, but nobody ever offered to knit it a hat. This film is not based on my life, nobody would pay to see that film, but it has a lot of parallels with what I was doing when I was young. Dave is a frustrated artist. I was a frustrated artist. Dave’s mum freaks out about his relationship with Rafi, but at least she didn’t deny his existence after finding out. I watched the film feeling totally bad about all the stuff Dave put his mum through. My mum probably went through at least half that stuff, and it probably didn’t do her health any good. Dave and his girlfriend spend a weekend in the Hamptons with three gay guys. I can’t say I’ve ever been to the Hamptons or spent the weekend with three gay guys, but the whole Rafi-bashing incident is something I’ve had to witness. The differences in the lives led by Dave and Rafi cause some tension, and the couple eventually break up. Dave is devastated, but his mother is relieved. Not happy, but relieved. Dave sleeps with an acquaintance of Rafi’s, whom he met at a photo shoot. The shoot totally took me back. A few years ago, I used to work nights from Sunday to Thursday and the dinner break on Sunday was particularly difficult. There was nothing open nearby, so I used to go down to a predominantly gay area of my city which is always bustling to find a restaurant there. I liked to try different places each week, and I chose to go to a place that is shut now, but I walked in the front door with a bit of stubble on my face wearing a black leather. I was greeted at the door by an older fellow looking even rattier than I was who asked in a very gay, unnecessarily loud voice, “Staaafff???” How rudely presumptuous of him. Miffed, I said, “No. Paying customer” to which he said “Sorry, it’s a private function tonight”. I turned and walked out the door, and as I walked past the front window I noticed that the place was full of drag queens. One of them gave me a nice smile. Too bad. I think it would have been a real kick to hang out with a bunch of queens for an hour or so. That black leather is in Indonesia someplace now. Good times, good times. In the movie, Dave experiences an equally awkward moment. He goes to the photo shoot in search of Rafi, and asks several people. He interrupts a small group and asks for her. A guy with shoulder length hair asks Dave if he is the make-up guy. Dave says no, and asks the other guy if he is the hair dresser. This gets Rafi in a bit of trouble because the dude is her boss. Dave explains that he has nowhere to live and has no money. Rafi decides to let Dave move in.
Things progress and the age difference starts to become apparent. My sister had a boyfriend once who was much younger than her, or at least he acted that way. He used to call her at work and nag her to come pick him up from school and drive him home where they could hang out. Needless to say, he didn’t last very long. In Rafi’s case, Dave takes his time looking for a job, spends more time in Rafi’s apartment than she would like playing Nintendo. She had been warned, one of her friends told her that if she liked sex, she better not buy Dave a Nintendo system. That is absolutely, totally true. Ask one of my ex-girlfriends. Her sex life went down the toilet once I started playing Nintendo. Dave and Rafi eventually have a fight because Rafi catches Dave trying to lie to her. She kicks him out, which is when he gets depressed and Maurice takes him to a party where he hooks up with Rafi’s acquaintance. Rafi finds out, and she gets totally upset. Strange, she was the one who said they should break up and see other people. But guys never learn. I never did. When one of my ex-girlfriends told me that she wanted to see other people I said okay, thinking it was okay for me to see other girls. I was surprised to learn a few weeks later that I had been mistaken. My brother called me and told me that my girlfriend was looking for me and she wasn’t happy. I met up with her and she told me flat out that she never meant for me to see other people. WTF?? That’s how I learned that seeing other people means only the person suggesting it is allowed to see other people.
At some point, Dave and Rafi get back together to make one last go at it, and he tells her that he wants to get her pregnant like she’s been wanting. She realizes in a big way that she can’t do it. Dave says something like, “It’s okay baby, yes you can” but Rafi says no way. She loves him too much and has to let him go. The trigger on that one was so strong, I couldn’t even see straight. My first major girlfriend broke up with me for the same reason. She didn’t tell me at the time, but years later after she was married and raising an infant at a time when she felt she could be honest with me, she said that she broke up with me because she loved me too much and didn’t want to ruin my life. There was no baby-making involved with us, but it was very much like the break up between Dave and Rafi. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time so when my ex came to mother’s funeral a few months later, I totally felt it was appropriate to ask her certain questions which didn’t exactly make her feel good. To her credit, she handled my garbage really well and didn’t let me make a scene. In the film, Dave and Rafi end up going their separate ways and a year later, or so we’re meant to believe, a chance meeting finds them in the same restaurant. There is no scene, instead it’s a moment where each lets the other know that they are doing alright… and life goes on. The doomed relationship is made to look as though it will last with the help of additional music by John Coltrane, Rufus Wainwright, and others. Without the music, I’m sure the audience would have dismissed the relationship as unworkable from the early stages.
All through the film, the cute Asian girls sitting behind me giggled and giggled. Sometimes they even giggled before the humour happened. Anyway, the point is I liked their giggling and fancied my chances with the one I had spoken to earlier. Yeah, I know. I picked up my brolly and left the theatre thinking they were right behind me, but they weren’t. So much for a chance to chat her up. After the grande Yukon, I was busting so like any other caffeine addict; I reasoned that I would return to the Starbucks and use the toilet. To show my patronage, I would then buy another coffee. At this rate, cigarettes would be cheaper. Anyway, on the walk back to the Starbucks I happened upon a woman passing who announced to a proprietor that she was going to grab a coffee and then go to work. I thought “Huh”? She was dressed in a business suit and stilettos. I reckoned that she was a call girl. As my aunt would say, “But Dax, how do you know she was a prostitute? Maybe she really was going to work”. Well, for one she was going to work, but the only places around to work were bars and I’ve never seen any bar waitresses who wear stilettos. And two, her skirt was see-through. She was a brunette, and she was totally gorgeous. Her pleasant attitude reminded me of one of my ex-girlfriends, except that she didn’t have red hair, no freckles and no braces. Is it just me, or is it totally fucked up to see a gorgeous woman and all you can think about is sewing a lining into her skirt? As it happened, the Starbucks loo was out of order, so I walked home with a gutful of Milk Duds trying to dodge drunken football fans. Saskatchewan was in town, and they have the most hardcore fans. I’m used to guys trying to touch me or grab my junk, but every once in a while I’m caught off guard. I almost got into it with one guy, but I only had one arm free and he was just trying to pat me on the back, plus he had two buddies with him and was drunk, so drunk in fact that he didn’t even realize that I wasn’t his buddy. CFL fans, gotta love’em.

I've Finally Reached That Age

I've finally reached that age where I'm too young to date, and at the same time too old. Not too long ago that I remember women telling me that I was too young to date. No lie. At this stage, I haven't actually been told that I'm too old but it's just around the corner. The other day, my friend Yumi told me that I remind her of her father. WHAT?? I'm the same age as her, what is she talking about. Due to a language barrier, she can't explain what she means but I know it's not good. I don't remind her of her father in the same way as oh, I don't know, a mum-and-dad-taking-the-kids-to-the-beach-for-a-barbecue kind of way. I remind her of her dad in that kind of lazy bastard fuck-off-kid-you-can-buy-your-own-damn-trainers kind of way. I thought that was rather unfair, afterall we've only known each other for two months, and we're not even that close. She told me that every guy reminds her of her father in some way. That didn't make me feel better, it actually made me feel bad for her. Just when I thought we were one step away from a couch session, she took that step and asked me if any of my girlfriends reminded me of my mother. Um, I didn't even know where to begin telling her what was wrong with that question. I thought maybe there was a language problem, and asked her to repeat the question. She meant what she asked, and so I explained that no, my girlfriends don't remind me of my mum. I guess I'll just have to accept it, and not freak out the next time a woman tells me I remind her of her dad, or even worse, wants to call me Daddy. Ewwwwwwwwww.
The latest film I saw is The Weather Man. I wrote in an earlier post that I don’t think Nicolas Cage is a fantastic actor, but I can’t say why I feel that way. It probably has something to do with the fact that he reminds me of somebody from my high school acting classes. Even though I can’t say who exactly that student was, that must be the reason why I have preconceived notions of Nic Cage’s acting ability. Or maybe there’s something to it. In his review of the film, a local film critic said that Cage had become a self-parody long ago. I guess that means Cage comes across as larger than life on screen. That’s not a bad thing. In fact, Cage is a very good actor. I didn’t believe what the critic had to say about the film for a few reasons. Right off the bat, he used his camera time to talk about Brad Pitt’s film currently filming in Canada and started to ridicule Winnipeg. Okay, some people don’t like Winnipeg. I don’t know why, but I’m sure they have their reasons. But what pissed me off is that the guy started to backtrack on his bashing. See, he quickly realized that his employer, or at least the newspaper he works for and the television network he appears on are based in Winnipeg. Its one thing to express an opinion, but to self-censure because he wants to cow-tow deserves no respect. He said something semi-offensive, but he should have the guts to stand by it. So right away, this guy’s review means nothing to me. That, and the fact that his review completely negated the things that Nic Cage said about the film the night before on David Letterman. It’s an opinion, so you don’t expect two points of view to be exactly the same, but to completely contradict the opinion of someone else made me wonder if this guy saw the same film.
I first mentioned this film in a previous post because I saw the trailer. There are a couple of things I hate about trailers. Sometimes, the trailer leads a viewer to believe the film is about one thing, but then actually ends up being about something else. But even worse, is the music. A song by Iggy Pop is predominantly featured in the trailer, a song which happens to be quite good and meaningful. I expected it to be in the film, sort of over top of a time-lapse montage. Nope, instead 30 seconds or less of the song is used in a mall shopping scene. Fooled me again. I think that the choice of music for a film soundtrack is important, and it seems that more and more people are feeling the same way nowadays. Maybe it’s just that Hollywood has decided that it cannot improve on plot, on acting and has decided that it will pay more attention to music. I might do a movie one day, and the first thing I try to figure out after I’ve got a scene in my head is the music. I’ve walked out of a theatre too many times wondering where I can find a particular song that I’ve realized that music is important to a movie. Despite the short rendition of Passenger, Hans Zimmer uses a pleasant little reggae dub throughout the film. This is the kind of music I was talking about when I was trying to explain a concept to Jason that night at the after party at Spanish Banks. I don’t think he quite understood what I meant, or maybe he just saw it from a different point of view, but he raised some good points.
The theatre: I couldn’t decide between Prime and The Weather Man, but both were playing at the Paramount. I was shocked to discover that the Capitol 6 has been shut, but relieved that they have replaced it with the Paramount. I saw The Aristocrats at the Paramount with my friend Kris, thanks to some free passes. Kris treated me to Taco Bell on our “date”. I don’t know why he kept using that word, I didn’t care for it. If I were in charge of a cinema multiplex, tacos would be near the bottom of the list of foods that I would want people bringing into the cinema. I paid a reasonable $10.95 to see The Weather Man, and it’s a good thing that I didn’t book the ticket on line because it would have cost more. I initially chose to watch Prime thinking there would be a large number of triggers, but while I was standing in the queue, a genie loudly announced that no more tickets were available for the 7:00 screening. Right. I’ll have to watch The Weather Man. As I stood in the queue, I noticed that the ticket agents were all wearing Hallowe’en costumes. They were all pretty standard characters from various films, hence the genie but I couldn’t figure out who the woman in a crimson business suit, reddish hair and big glasses was meant to be. It just so happened that I ended up at her wicket and saw her name tag. She was meant to be Tootsie. I told her she had a great costume, and asked her if there were still tickets for The Weather Man. She said yes, and I asked her what time it was. She said, “It’s ten past”, in a sophisticated English accent and I nearly fainted. I grabbed the counter, waited for my knees to steady and took my ticket. See, I have a thing for certain accents. I found a seat in time to see a trailer for The Family Stone. This movie is starring former 3-2-1 Contact superstar Sarah Jessica Parker and Dermot Mulroney. It’s about a guy who brings his girlfriend home to meet the family for the holidays. It seems like a pretty good film, but maybe that’s just because it reminds me of some people I met once. I’ll probably see that one, after Syriana. This is George Clooney’s new film, fresh on the heels of Good Night, and Good Luck. This is the film that he had to gain 30 pounds for, and I’m banking on some good cloak and dagger intrigue from this film. This is going to sound a bit weird, but George Clooney reminds me of a young Sean Connery. He combs his hair the same way, and could probably pull off a good James Bond. Why didn’t they offer him the role? They may have, but he probably wouldn’t take it. Clooney is determined to make socially redeeming films, which is why he did Good Night, and Good Luck.
And now we go to the dark place: I mentioned above that the theatre staff were dressed in costume. It wasn’t Hallowe’en, it was October 29. This happens to be my ex-girlfriend’s birthday, and this year she turned 30. I get a lot of flack about getting over this woman, but I have to say it, I’ll probably never get over her. She was a phenomenal person. She was so great that she could make time stand still. In fact, that’s exactly what she did on October 29, 2005. She made time stand still for an hour. So that was part of the reason why I went to watch the film. I was determined to get my mind off of the fact that it was her birthday. It didn’t work. As you read on, you will discover triggers. I’ve based my writing around triggers before, but I think it either becomes too much for readers who are familiar with the triggers so they stop reading, or it alienates readers who have no idea what the trigger signifies that they just stop reading because they can’t identify. Either way, I think I’m going to drop the trigger motif or maybe use it not so much. The date was only part of what reminded me of Chie. I went out for lunch with some of my classmates and the teacher to a Japanese restaurant. I’ve tried to avoid it in the past because they advertise “all you can eat” sushi which has never been a very appetizing idea for me, but they have a regular menu before 6:00 p.m. so we went there for lunch. My absolute favourite Japanese dish is Donburi Katsudon, and I’ve only ever had it properly two or three times in my city. It consists of rice, rice noodles, a little sweet broth, a sliced pork cutlet with an egg cracked over top. The problem is that most places where you can actually get Japanese food OTHER THAN SUSHI will not serve katsudon. They might have oyakodon (chicken), but the idea of serving donburi with a deep fried pork cutlet on top is considered a little too foreign for westerners. I guess restauranteurs figure they wouldn’t be able to move enough of the product. I do know a place that will do it, but his shop is a hole in the wall and he doesn’t have enough room for a fryer. When he does it, there is no egg and no noodles or broth, just rice and cutlet. Well, now I know where to get katsudon and it’s a leisurely 15 minute stroll from my flat. If I start dating again, I will definitely go there with Miki.
The cast: If you haven’t figured it out by now, the film stars Nicolas Cage as Dave Sprtiz, the weather man, Michael Caine f.k.a Maurice Micklewhite as his father and renown author Robert, and Gil Bellows as the teen-counseling pedophile. Other people you may have heard of in the film include Hope Davis, Michael Rispoli and SpongeBob Squarepants.
The film: The film opens with Dave brushing his teeth in the mirror practicing his game face. He practices different expressions with the word “refreshing”, and then flashes a toothy smile. Instantly, this is a film I’m going to like. I get up in the morning and practice my game face too, except my word begins with an “S”, and sometimes a “W” and I don’t smile. I have a less than impressive smile. Dave is waiting for a call from a New York television show. He received a “feeler” from the show and is now hoping that he will be called to work on the east coast where he can make more money. It took me a little while to decide that the film was not done in Vancouver. It was hard at first, but then the lakefront kinda gave it away. All the other scenes could have been done in Vancouver except the lakefronts. The wide aerials could have been done by a second unit and edited into the film, and I was stumped again by the location of the wife’s house. There are at least two neighborhoods in Vancouver where the house could have been, but I resigned myself to the fact that Home Alone and a lot of John Hughes’s films were done in similar locations in and around Chicago so it might actually be that Chicago and Vancouver have some similar areas. In fact, the film was meant to be done in Canada, but Cage and director Gore Verbinski nixed it because they felt it would not be realistic enough. I’m glad, because the lakefront features prominently throughout the film.
Dave Spritz doesn’t like what he has become. He hopes that by moving to New York, he will be able to save his marriage and make something of himself. He doesn’t like being a weatherman in Chicago. People throw food at him, and expect him to be “on” all the time. I really don’t understand why this concept is so hard to grasp for the general public. Here’s the rule that I follow: If you see a celebrity out and about, not at an official function, say hello and leave them alone. Don’t even ask for an autograph. They are carrying on as private citizens, and deserve the same level of privacy that the rest of us have become accustomed to. The paparazzi have their own rules based on judicial code, and that’s fine for them, but I think the rest of society can have a little decency and treat celebrities just like they treat the barista at Starbucks – no more, no less. Say hello, pay for the extra-hot triple espresso, and move along to the drink pick-up counter. Back to Dave Spritz. Spritz isn’t his real name, and he doesn’t want to use it because his father Robert Spritzel, a Pulitzer-winning author already uses it. Dave wants to do more than be a weatherman, and has written a book. It’s not a very good book, but it’s good to Dave, and will come into play later in the film. Robert Spritzer is a fiction writer. My dad is a fiction writer. He started out writing what amounted to scientific field studies, but in his later years found that fiction was his calling. I have to take all responsibility for that, not that I want to. Somehow, I think that if I had not shown him a tenuous causal link between him and a part of English history, he would still be spending his spare time playing Age of Empires and watching A&E.
The Spritz family is falling apart, and Dave wants to change it. He attends counseling classes with his wife, from whom he is separated. The class doesn’t go well, and his wife eventually accepts a marriage proposal from another dude. Dave tries to bond with his daughter through archery classes. Trigger. Dave’s daughter loses interest easily, probably because she is not an instant expert. If I were Dave, I would have tried to encourage her more but the archery just becomes a metaphor for Dave’s own problems. My ex-girlfriend was an archer. Not olympic or anything, but in high-school she kicked ass and was tops in her prefecture. She hates Winnipeg. You know your city has an insect problem when a tourist comes all the way from Japan, and the only thing they have to say about it is "too many mosquitoes". There was no way I was going to get her off my mind if this archery thing continued. Dave tries to bond with his son by beating the crap out of the son’s drug and alcohol counselor who happens to be a pedophile. Dave actually does something meaningful he figures, and succeeds in bonding with his son. Then Dave goes into a speech about how his life is like all the fast food that people throw at him. It was actually a very good comparison, but I can’t remember the details now. The film continues with another curve ball for Dave. His father is diagnosed with lymphoma, and expects to die soon. At the living funeral, Dave’s speech is interrupted by a power outage and he loses his chance to tell his father and his father’s friends how he really feels about Robert. But his dad tries, and gives Dave another chance to explain his speech. Dave explains the best he can, and then Robert goes into a speech about how life is what life is, and we all have to do the best we can, doing what we’re best at, the typical we-can’t-all-be-Pulitzer-Prize-winners speech. Dave gets it, really gets it and takes the job in New York. Dave comes to the realization that when he was young, there were so many opportunities that he could have become anything but that as life goes on, things change and you end up being what you are. The film ends with him discovering his place in life, a weather man. I left the theatre, this time politely letting others go before me. On the way out, I grabbed some free samples of Garnier Fructis Hard Glue EXTREME, considered it a challenge and walked home sipping a grande Kenya. I wasn’t impressed with the gel because it took awhile to set, but after about 20 minutes I was convinced that this hair gel lived up to its extreme rating. I’ll still use my regular styling pomade because it is non-alcohol based and is easier to wash out even though it looks like drywall putty.
There are a couple of disturbing moments in the film, apart from the scene where Gil Bellows is taking pictures of a shirtless minor. Some right-wing readers may take exception to the fact that the homosexual icon SpongeBob Squarepants is in the film, and may claim that The Weather Man only serves to further the gay and lesbian agenda. SpongeBob is in the film, but he doesn’t say a word, so don’t worry about it. I neither agree nor disagree with the view that SpongeBob Squarepants promotes alternative lifestyles. I only make mention of it here so that people who find the character objectionable will avoid watching the film. There’s another topic which I think was probably unnecessary, or perhaps could have been dealt with in a different way in the film, but I won’t go into it here. I don’t know how to say what I want to say about it. All I can say is go watch the film.

I have had misgivings about doing this in the past, but after a conversation at Thanksgiving with family I have finally done it. The reasons why I am averse to publishing a blog are as follows: 1) I don't write for everybody, I write for a selected audience. 2) If I send my stuff via e-mail, the recipients have a better chance of reading it - If I post it on a blog, they may never read it. 3) Blogging doesn't make money, I have bills to pay. 4) Blogging requires a commitment. I can't just stop posting. If I did that, the blog would be pointless. 5) If I start blogging, I'll have to start watching movies for the sake of the blog, and not for the pure enjoyment of film which is the reason why the famous Layer Cake e-mail was sent around in the first place. 6) I don't respond to criticism very well. Inevitably, somebody is going to post a comment that will be both negative and non-constructive and I might just pack the whole experiment in. 7) My writing style is too personalized. It is directed at a very small group of people who know me and usually understand my humour. With a blog, anybody can read my stuff and may not know that some references are jokes, or may take it personally and might actually take me up on point #6). 8) It has been offered that blogging is an exercise in narcissism. I agree with that point, which is why I was loathe to start a blog in the first place. I don't consider myself a narcissist, but I've never studied psychology either. 9) Isn't it too late to blog? Haven't I missed the boat? Everybody's vlogging now, so isn't that a better way to go? I would vlog, but I don't want a camera. Heck, I don't even have a cell phone or cable TV, and I hardly ever use my DVD player. 10) I had hoped that my e-mails would not be passed around to people I don't know, and my material reproduced without consent by some people. Well, its already happened, so why not just put it all on a blog so everybody can read it and make it fair game?
Despite all my concerns, I've decided to put up what I have, and will add new stuff when I can. I'm going to take it on the chin and delete most, if not all non-constructive negative comments. My writing style will remain directed to a small group, but will also try to have something for everyone, and I'll stop writing e-mails that take 20 minutes to read.

Okay, So it's Becoming a Thing

Do you remember that night last November or December when we were downtown late one night checking out the scene when we ended up smack in the middle of Manhattan? All of a sudden Burrard St. turned into a New York City sidewalk. Well, I think I saw the movie they were filming then tonight.
After being panned by Robert Elder of the Chicago Tribune (a guy who's obviously making a career out of the fact that his name looks like Roger Ebert if you're not reading closely enough), I wasn't expecting much fromTwo for the Money. I had a choice of watching the film, or going to hear afriend of mine give a free recital over on the west side with that freaky counter-tenor voice of his - that's freaky in a good way. Since I had already withdrawn the cash, I chose the film. Tony's voice wasn't going anywhere, but after what Elder had to say, I wasn't so sure about the film either.
Before going to the movie, I went to this nice little deli on Beatty St. called the Kolachy Shop. They're not entirely kosher, but they do use kosher parchment paper for baking. Who knew? They offer feature kolachys, like the last time I was there it was Scotch Egg. This time it was English Breakfast. Trigger. Although the proprietor hates baked beans, I told him to go see Layer Cake. He would have a whole new appreciation for a real English Breakfast. I told him the movie starred Daniel Craig, the newJames Bond to which he replied "Who?". Am I the only person who's seen Layer Cake?
The theatre - Cinemark Tinseltown 12. I swear they index their prices to the price of gas, but now I know why. I confronted the guy behind the protective glass as to why I had to pay $11.50 two weeks prior to watch The Constant Gardener, but only had to pay $7.50 to watch Al Pacino andMatthew McConaughey have hair nightmares. The kid behind the glass told me,"Matinee Price! You pay less". I don't know why it was such a mystery before, it makes perfect sense. If you watch a film before 18:00, it will cost you less. Surely I could live with shelling out $7.50 for highback recliners and an unobstructed view of the screen.
The trailers - Several trailers were shown, one for Nic Cage's new film which I've detailed before, and two others which really make me want to see them. Maybe it was just one trailer, but its got that guy who starred in Fast and Furious I and II... yes BOTH of them! Oh yeah, Paul Walker - that's his name. The film is called Running Scared, and very much parallels the life stories of at least two people I know. But then again, I am pulling this assumption from the trailer and we probably all know at least 1 person like the people in that film. By the way, Elizabethtown is going to suck. Anybody whose dealt with a cremation knows that human ash is NOT the same as wood ash. Why can't Hollywood get it straight? I guess it's too gory for the censors to show the real thing. Little trigger.
I could list off the Vancouver locations all at once, or put them as they appear in the film. There is even a location used in the film which, at first consideration I was convinced was a luxury brownstone mockup that does exist in Fairview, but for it to be Vancouver, they would have had to truck it down to the shore under the Lions' Gate bridge and then also rebuild the Old Mill and truck that down and drop it right next to the brownstone. The only logical explanation (I always try to be as logical as possible) is to accept that the bridge is not the Lions' Gate bridge (later it is proven not to be the LG bridge), and that the location only rings a bell because I saw it in another film. I'm thinking Hitch -IF Hitch is the one where Wil Smith goes to a cooking class at some waterfront location. All that, and in a real New York street shot, there is a Metro news box. I thought they were local. And since I couldn't fit it in anywhere else, the shot of the ruined client at a call box next to a wharf was done on the shore of the Fraser River down in Surrey next to Skybridge or else further east at the Mission ferry parking lot.
The movie - Before I get started, it might be worth noting that the last two people in the theatre were the first two out. Two Japanese girls, one sported an off-white, perhaps ivory gypsy skirt whereas the second one wore a skirt hemmed above the knee, with black knee-high stockings and ankle boots with the no fur option and carried her purse off the elbow in an L-shaped fashion. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, I was the thirdperson out of the theatre which is the only reason why I remember what they wore.
As I alluded to above, the film stars Al Pacino and Matthew McConaughey and their journey to find a good stylist. I kid you not, the hair in this film was so bad. In the first current day shot of Matt's character, he's got some kind of crazy bandaged mullet. I thought for sure that he had a wig on under that do rag. But at least Matt's hair was consistent. The first shot of Al's hair is a 40 foot high ad for why men should not get hair plugs (if they were plugs - they were so bad I couldn't really see what he had on his head). From the back it wasn't much better. He had some kind of top-only thing on his head which I guess is more believable than an all-over wig. Then, the wife. Rene Russo's hair was so frizzy, it looked like a doll's hair after I -- I mean my sister put curlers in it. So the movie stars Al Pacino (how many football movies can this guy be in??) as the boss, a man very much like my father, a business man blinded by greed who has a NASTY case of angina. Also starring in the film is Matthew McConaughey, as the former athlete who is a whiz at predicting football wins. Rene Russo completes the main cast as the wife of Al Pacino's character, the only person who can understand him and also help McConaughey's character figure out life in the big city. Jeremy Piven is also in a supporting role, playing a betting expert who figures McConaughey won't last, and not to be outdone, Piven is wearing the perfect I'm-not-trying-to-fool-anybody-with-this wig.
The last film I saw Al Pacino in at a theatre was Devil's Advocate with Keanu Reeves. There was nothing particularly memorable about that film including Pacino's acting so I really wanted to see a good film today. Devil's Advocate also reminds me why I have to watch films alone. If I go with someone, we have a habit of talking or my friend and I will laugh at odd moments. After getting over the hair, the film proceeds with McConaughey receiving a call from Pacino offering him a job in New York. McConaughey arrives in New York to the sounds of Curtis Mayfield, but the soundtrack is pretty forgettable after that, and Matt finds himself completely out of his element. Before I realized the film was done in Vancouver, an early scene has Pacino, Russo and McConaughey enjoying a celebratory dinner in a restaurant. It was so nice, I considered giving up my standing reservation at Hy's just to have dinner in this place. Later, I realized that it was Hy's. Boy, did I feel stupid. Pacino and McConaughey make a bet over a woman sitting at another table who, you guessed it, had frizzy hair that was so thick it had to be a wig, but maybe hair grows that way in Nebraska (The actress is from Omaha, Nebraska). McConaughey stops her in the stairwell and tries to pick her up. Little trigger, which really did bring back something I'd forgotten. Incidentally, this actress' character lives in the Wall Centre Hotel, but probably never saw more than the elevator. We only ever see her exit the elevator into the lobby which is all the second unit needed. I started to catch on when I saw Pacino and McConaughey walking around the Marine Building on Burrard St. In a goof shot, you see the two of them walk around the same corner twice, but only people in Vancouver would know that so I guess the second unit decided it wasn't worth re-shooting. There was also a nice little moment where Pacino and McConaughey crash a Gamblers Anonymous meeting attended by none other than Canadian actress Vina Sood. I was too busy trying to figure out how she got into the film that I kinda missed Pacino's speech. As the members started to get strange looks on their faces, I half expected one of them to say "You've got the wrong meeting", but it didn't happen. The two are kicked out of the meeting, and they go back to making millions on the betting circuit. A whale calls up and wants to meet John Anthony, McConaughey's character's alter-ego. Anthony and Pacino fly to Puerto Rico to meet this big better, but really they never leave the Lower Mainland. The airport is of course YVR, and the better's house (we only ever see one interior shot) is really my dad's place. It actually isn't too hard to make Deep Cove look like Puerto Rico when the only shot of the exterior is ocean, and they throw a couple tropical plants around the room. So John Anthony lands the client and because his betting is so good, they instantly make money off the guy. Then the ugly side of money comes in. John starts to feel jealous that Pacino is living large off the money that Anthony made for him while Anthony gets zilch. Anthony, never a better himself, starts to play silly. He figures he could make any pick, and at least half would be right. Statistically speaking, a randomly selected variable with two possible outcomes always has a a fifty percent chance of resulting in a positive outcome. But realistically speaking, everybody wants better than 50%, especially when its millions at stake. So John gets sloppy to teach Pacino a lesson, and messes a bit with Rene as well which doesn't help. He manages to upset Mr. Whale, played by Armand Assante in Puerto Rico, and while he's cycling in Stanley, I mean Central Park he is assaulted by the body guard of Mr. Whale and ends up getting scared enough that he decides to smarten up. Somewhere in the movie, there is a whole lotof of Matt-running-around-in-a-towel. I remember because at some point a few members of the female audience did that thing that my friend Maureen does whenever a good looking guy walks by. John's magic doesn't come back so easily, and after losing several hundred thousand of his boss' own money, he throws a fit at the glitziest sportsbar I've ever seen. That's because it isn't a sports bar. It is actually Wild Rice Restaurant on Pender at Abbott. I checked that place out with Miko S. from Jakarta and then later took Debbie C. there (names have been redacted to protect innocent parties). I never knew that quail bones could be so nasty. I recommend the Opium, a double vodka with Chambord. They serve food there too, but after the experience with Debbie I haven't been back. There is also a shot allegedly of Nobu in New York, but I think it might have been Lumiere with a different colour attitude and new table lamps. Perhaps because they actually named the restaurant, the second unit actually filmed at Nobu. I don't know, I'm just saying. John gets one more chance to make good and of course, he does but not before he loses his soul, has to disappear from New York and never make a bet again. I don'tknow what happened to Pacino's character, but I assume he dropped dead of a heart attack shortly after winning all his money back, leaving his widow to shoulder the business debt and take care of a six year old daughter. Ithink it would have been better if McConaughey and Russo ran off leaving Pacino with a pile of money all the way back at square 1.

If You Want to See it, it's There

Another week, another movie. This week, I saw Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were Rabbit. I don't know which is worse - the 6-year old in the balcony singing his own version of lyrics by the Mad Stuntman, or the fact that I was duped into watching a second movie starring Ralph Fiennes. That's right, in his most gripping performance ever, Fiennes provides the voice-over for Victor Quartermaine - ultimate bad guy. The film made its dubious Vancouver debut at the Van East cinema.
Before I get started, I have actually found a cinema that doesn't charge you an arm and a leg to see a movie. Van East is one of those cinemas. If I wanted to see this film at Tinseltown or at a chain theatre, I would have had to pay almost 50% more. But Van East is a small screen theatre, and doesn't have high-backed recliners that some people might actually pay $3.50 more to experience. I'm old school so I don't mind the small screen. What I did mind was that I was the first person to enter the theatre, and I chose my seat. The second person could have sat anywhere ELSE in the theatre, but no. He had to sit directly in front of me, jerk. I hope the brats in the balcony threw food on you as well.
So how do you go about getting a G rating on porn? Do it in plasticine and nobody will be the wiser. Yup, Wallace and Gromit is just a thinly veiled excuse for porn (not to mention racism). Before I write any further, I would, for legal reasons, like to point out that any references to porn in this posting are made solely in a humourous sense. Admittedly, you have to be looking for the porn in order to see it, but I saw it so it was there. Wanna see rabbits have sex? You don't have to go to Delta house parties anymore for that, but if you do go, you will also answer the question of how to fit 4 grown people in an MR2. Again, you don't actually see it, but the suggestion is there. Gromit runs around the town in a giant fake bunny suit, and is chased by an amourous were-rabbit. If that's not bunny sex, I don't know what is.There were also several instances of melon grabbing, and even a nun-porn loving vicar. Along with the porn, there was also a reference made which some may construe as racist, and another which might be considered disparaging to the disabled. The only Indian in the film is a news agent. OK, I never saw him selling newspapers but he was wearing the brown shop coat that many news agents in the UK wear. For a good example of this coat, see Shaun of the Dead. Is that the only role they could get for this guy? Surely he could have been like, a diplomat but they typecast him instead. Oh, and then Ralph Fiennes' character ran around with a turban made of candy floss toward the end.The movie borrows from prior works featuring Wallace and Gromit, so you may want to watch "The Wrong Trousers", "A Grand Day Out" and "Close Shave" first. The plot also borrowed from other films which was pretty unoriginal, but added to the humour (I guess). I suppose if they call it an homage, then it isn't copyright infringement. I laughed out loud during the classic Kris moment. I won't tell you which moment it is because you might not agree it is classic Kris, and you might not even know Kris, and I don't want to ruin the movie. Wallace and Gromit are the only two recurring characters in the film. Sadly, Shaun the intrepid lamb was not in the cast this time, and Wallace has a new love-interest so Wendolene Ramsbottom is out of the picture. Can I give it a bad rating? No. Despite the blatant porn (which I might just be taking out of context), the film was pretty good. If you've got kids, or appreciate the creative process, or just like Wallace and Gromit, then you should take a couple hours to watch this movie.

The Constant Gardener

I never thought I'd do it, but I went and saw a movie tonight based solely on what I saw in the trailer. I have made the mistake of watching movies based on what the television commercials present, but trailers are a different story. Would I go and see the 40 Year Old Virgin based on the trailer? No. Don't get me wrong, it looks like it was probably a funny movie - except for people who happen to be ummmm, 40 year old virgins *hi* - but I get the feeling that once you see the trailer, you've seen the movie. By the way, fresh from his performance in "Lord of War", Nicolas Cage is starring in a movie called "The Weather Man". Not that I think he's a good actor or anything, but I might go and see his new movie.
I think cinemas have their own self-sustaining capital markets in a parallel universe with their own inflation rates or something, or maybe the people who set the prices for movies use some schedule they found at a cambio in Brazil in 1982. I paid $11.50 for a film tonight, and I swear it was double the price of the last film I saw like two months ago.
I'll admit the trailer for The Constant Gardener was good. You start watching it thinking its about some fruity librarian whose only friend is the aspidistra left behind by former tenants. And then it gets you - sweeping shots of African plains with pounding percussion and then more plants and then a little espionage and then a love interest. What else do you need? This guy ain't a librarian, and he ain't fruity (he IS Ralph Fiennes, so let's keep it in perspective, he's fruity but not so much). There's more, but I'll pepper the text with that stuff.
The cast is racked with a bunch of Hollywood nobodies, but then what is Hollywood anyway? I'm talking about none other than Bill Nighy from Shaun of the Dead, Donald Sumpter who would be a shoe-in for the role of Sir Frank Williams if they ever make a movie about him, and Pete Postlethwaite who I know from somewhere but can't figure it out even after scanning his filmography, and Rachel Weisz. She's supposed to be some kind of sex symbol or something, but I just don't get it. Maybe its because I've dated English women who are way sexier than her. I'm just sayin'. Oh, and look for Jeffrey Caine, the guy who wrote the screenplay as one of the club staff members: I think he tries to take Ralph Fiennes' luggage. Production crews always save a few bucks by getting writers to also act, but I wonder why they bother sometimes. How much would it take to cast an extra, like say for example Fred M. to play a luggage monkey? And a little shaz to the set designer who managed to make the SFU classroom complex look like the Nairobi hospital or vice versa. And a big shaz for the High Commission offices in Nairobi. Its like Philip Johnson said - Form is function.
Regarding the plot, I feel like such a dork because I knew that this film was based on a book and I still paid to see the film instead of at least going to the library to get the book for free first. Also, another dork moment for realizing who Ralph Fiennes looks like. You'd think I'd remember the face of the guy who took naked photos of my sister, a guy I've known for ten years EASY. I hate those little cues that trigger suppressed trauma (I should be used to it by now. I get like 15 or 16 a day). But noooo, it's not until I see Ralph Fiennes carrying a video camera in his hand, filming his naked (and pregnant) wife that it hits me, at which point I mutter "OMIGODnoWAAAAAY!" under my breath just loud enough to distract half the theatre. Charles J. He might even be the real Ralph Fiennes. I know for a fact that Charles J. is a pseudonym, and isn't it always interesting how he's never around when Ralph is busy filming? Back to plot. The film opens with a close-up of what you should never do in your sister's Jeep in Rocky Mountain House. See? Trigger. An overturned Rover is beached on a riverbed and then looted by the people who presumably caused it to overturn in the first place. Note to John LeCarre - Congratulations on the espionage. This is the first spy movie I've watched where I've seen stuff that I myself have never done, or someone I know hasn't had to do. It's a good thing too, because the stuff didn't work out in the end.
And there was even a little Paris-Dakar action in there for good measure, in a Ford Escort no less. They actually race those heaps in rallies across Europe, but then the English are the same people who brought us the Vauxhall Viva, the Lotus anything and various other nice but gutless cars. The only car the English should rally is the Cooper Mini, and I mean a real Cooper (not the BMW kind). Indeed, I saw a real one up for sale the other day. It was black with white racing stripes on the bonnet and coincidentally parked behind a sleek silver Peugeot. I wanted to bring the Mini home and give it a nice warm bowl of soup, but I just couldn't do it. Instead, I elbowed my way onto the train with a tear in my eye. In the film, the Escort matches up against an Isuzu Trooper, and wins - at least it got there first. Speaking of Cooper Minis, Ian S. is now a CGA - Big, big trigger. If anyone can make that link, the Manhattan's on me.The movie is fairly long, and worth every penny of the latte you'll have to skip. Opportunity cost. After 5 or 6 helpings of steaming hot White Guilt, the story creates a set-up which makes me think we're in for another crappy ending a la Layer Cake. Have you guys heard of Layer Cake? Ask me sometime. The ending of The Constant Gardener is kinda false, and the denouement takes a turn but only if for just a sec. Viewers are treated to an ending which is kinda good, kinda sucky but fairly realistic afterall. And isn't that what we all want when we go to the movies? Uhh, no. If that's what we wanted, The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill would have been the highest-grossing piece of celluloid ever released. Honestly though, the ending left an opening which makes you wonder what happened next. What was in the package?
Another question that has been bothering me lately is why I never noticed that Jean Chretien's name sounds exactly the same as "Christian people" in French. It makes listening to the political panel on SRC re-runs very difficult. I took me a while to figure out whose agenda was which.