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No Such Thing

Several years ago — and I’m sure this is meaningless to non-Vancouverites — there used to be a little theatre downtown, under Royal Centre. I loved that place. It had several tiny, shoebox cinemas. Some of them only had about 30 seats. And unlike most “Famous Players” theatres, they showed new films that were just a little off the beaten track.

One of my favourite evening activities was to show up there not knowing what film I’d see, and pick one almost at random. In those shoebox cinemas, I accidentally saw The Girl in the Swing, Withnail and I, Europa, and several others that I might not have seen otherwise.

When Royal Bank took over the property and renovated it to expand its offices, Vancouver suffered a great loss. I sometimes try to do the same thing at the Hollywood Theatre on Broadway, but it’s really not the same. Nobody else in town has a half-dozen living room sized cinemas.

In the same spirit, when I rent a video, I sometimes like to grab one that I haven’t heard of and avoid reading the synopsis on the back. How could a synopsis do anything but ruin your appreciation of a movie? And how could it really provide you with any meaningful way to judge the difference between one movie and another?

For example: “A man with super powers is willing to sacrifice himself to save the world.” Now is that movie Superman, or is it The Last Temptation of Christ?

Anyway, as I came home from work on Friday, I grabbed a movie almost at random so that I could have one of those Royal Centre surprise movie experiences. Was it a comedy or drama? No idea — all I knew was that it starred Sarah Polley, and if I can confess to something, I’ve developed a bit of a crush on Sarah, so that probably played some part in choosing it.

The movie was No Such Thing, written and directed by Hal Hartley. All I can say is, go out and rent it now. It’s not your regular movie. Neither is it too weird to digest. Sarah Polley is utterly brilliant (though maybe a little typecast) as the pure, innocent girl, and Robert John Burke is perfect as the embittered monster. But I won’t attempt to provide a synopsis for you. That would ruin it. Just go grab it. Watch it. Preferably late at night. Let me know what you think.

Oh, and much of it is set in Iceland. Wonderful place. It looks so desolate and moody. I’d love to spend time there being all melancholy by the sea and stuff. I’m sure that’s a national Icelandic pastime.

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PC party leadership

Passing a newspaper box this morning, I spotted this headline on the front page of the National Post: “Lord to Run for PC Leadership“.

Well. It’s about time the Lord got involved in Canadian politics. I’m sure He’ll bring some much needed integrity to a system that has often been accused of corruption and self-serving–

Oh.

It’s Bernard Lord. Hmm. Well, I wouldn’t have voted for the Conservatives anyway.

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Early morning gesticulations

Some mornings I wake up with a word stuck in my head. It kind of knocks around in there all day and pops out at the strangest moments. Usually it’s one of those words that inexplicably sounds funny. Wibble is one of them. Today it’s gesticulate.

Gesticulate. I don’t even know why it’s funny. It’s sounds a lot like articulate, but articulate isn’t funny. Well I suppose that depends on what you’re articulating. It would be especially funny if you were articulating while gesticulating.

Polyglot is another good one. And cornucopia. Telephony.

I just have to resign myself to having gesticulatory conversations all day.

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Window washers

Looking out my window (my cubicle happens to have one), I see that the window cleaners are busy on one of the other buildings. That looks like a dangerous job — rappeling down the side of a tower with a bucket and squeegee. Difficult too. There’s a lot of surface area to cover.

Maybe it’s just me, but isn’t it kind of awkward when one of those people passes your window? What’s the correct etiquette? Do you close the blinds? Ignore the guy? Or nod a friendly hello? Or do you have fun and write insulting messages on sticky notes?

Or maybe you could just play stupid games, like get really close to the window and follow the squeegee’s every movement. And when he drops down to the next floor, run downstairs and do it again.

I should stop looking out my window and actually get something done.

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I’m not a sandwich snob… I’m just an experienced sandwich eater.

Are they “Sandwich Artists” as they claim, or mere sandwich hacks? As you may know, I take sandwiches seriously. After all, in the cubicle, there is no food item more perfect than the sandwich.

Soup? The slurping will irritate your neighbors and soup may splash onto your keyboard. Pizza? The grease will get all over everything, and the aroma will drive co-workers into a feeding frenzy that you probably won’t survive. Sushi? Well, I’ll go for sushi too, but the price is a cubicle that smells like fish for the entire afternoon.

With this in mind, you’ll understand how off-putting it is for me to go to Subway and be given a sub-standard sandwich (pun intended… oh, I’m just so, so witty. Tee hee hee. Ahem.). I ordered the new teriyaki chicken sub instead of my usual roast beef.

Onto a bed of cheesy slices went the limp, strips of formed chicken — a close inspection revealed air bubbles in the meat. I think the idustrial process they use to create this chicken-like substance also creates those big colourful bathroom sponges. Onto the chicken-like substance went piles of wilted lettuce and a couple of token vegetables, followed by the crowning glory: the sweet onion sauce. The “artist” enthusiastically filled any empty spaces between the lettuce shreds, so that when it came time to eat the sub, the oil had completely soaked through the bread and flowed freely out the ends.

Next time, I’ll ask for the onion sauce on the side as a chaser.

Finally, to add insult to injury — and I’m just nit-picking now — their napkins all display the motto “eat fresh”. Eat fresh what? Or do they mean us to eat freshly? I’ll have to ask their sandwich artist next time I feel like an oily sandwich.