Predictable Idiots in College Park

Joe and I walked by College Park today and, to our amazement, it wasn't solely populated by pigeons for once. Instead, it was the meeting place for a marijuana smoke-in. Whoops!

Unlike other drug addicts, potsmokers tend to elicit scorn rather than fear in me. In part, this is because potsmokers are usually too lazy to engage in violent behaviour, which may be why I did not see any cops covering the rally. But, more importantly, they are so damn predictable.

Besides the 'activists' who were just sitting on the ground and smoking up, the rest were doing what you would expect:

Waving Canadian flags where the maple leaf has been replaced with a cannibis leaf - check

Playing tribal drums - check

Feeling the music - check

Playing hacky sack - check

When I got home, I decided to do a search on the internet to see if a call to rally could confirm what I saw and found this online forum.

It made me laugh that one forum poster had a signature that stated:

First they came for the Communists,and I did not speak up because i wasn't a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak up because i wasn't a trade unionist.
Then they came for me,and i did speak up because i'm a marijuana activist.

This is obviously a bastardization of "First they came...", the famous poem about the dangers of political apathy. However, in a complete 180 degree turn, this pothead has turned the message into a proudly, self-serving declaration. Bravo!

If ever there was a law against stupidity, the closest would have to be laws against widespread use of marijuana.

A nostalgic moment for plastic bags

When I read that the LCBO might be eliminating their plastic bags, I applauded the idea though with a little bit of regret.

I am in favour of reducing the wasteful amount of plastic bags that we use and currently carry a cloth bag in my purse in order to avoid having to use them. And yet, I still fondly remember when LCBO plastic bags were crazy thick, even more so than now. Cost as opposed to environmentalism probably prompted the reduction in plastic. Yet, the heft made sense since bottles of booze can be quite heavy.

What did not make sense to me were the Bell plastic bags; those silver and blue bags were easily 1 mm thick. It is true that home phones used to feature a lot more metal than they do now but did anyone really need a bag that thick to carry their phone home? My parents used to save those bags for special occasions, when normal plastic just would not do.

Finally, I miss the smell of fresh plastic bags. It is a scent I rarely smell now because recycled plastic does not carry it and the majority of plastic bags nowadays are, at least, partially recycled. At the Food City with my parent, I used to feign helpfulness by grabbing a bag of groceries then raise the bag to my face to take in a good whiff of that fresh plastic bag smell.

I still remember when I first encountered a recycled plastic bag. My father used to regularly buy books for me from World's Biggest Book Store and the bags that the books came in would carry that wonderful smell. Then one day, the plastic bag he brought home was different. It claimed to be made from recycled materials, featured a rough surface and did not have the fresh plastic smell (!). In retrospect, the change was probably for the best since all the reading in the world would not have counteracted the possible brain damage from constant plastic huffing.

I would love to see an old time heavy plastic LCBO or Bell bag, and as with all things mundane and Canadian, a Google image search turns up nothing. If you have a cool plastic bag, don't keep it to yourself. Plastic bag enthusiasm may well be the way of the future as their widespread availability becomes a thing of the past.

I think I'm going to hurl

I think I need to get back into art really fast. My life is already halfway through this scenario...

The Sad Truth About Relationships

Doppleganger update: wasted opportunity

Nothing much to say right now so I'll fall back on my trusty (hand waivers between 'dopplegangers' and 'cannibalism') ... doppleganger! (Previously on mein doppleganger.)

I brought up mein doppleganger with my parents recently and to my shock, found out that we share genes in addition to a name. It turns out that her father is my grandfather's youngest brother. Later, my travel agent mentions that a friend of his is a friend of hers. It's all just too much!

I came across her on Facebook and, for months, I was tempted to message her but what to say? 'I have gotten mistaken for you' or 'We share genes' or 'I look up information about you using Google'. So many ways to go wrong.

Unfortunately, the opportunity has been taken out of my hands; mein doppleganger recently left Facebook. Of course, I still have her mailing address but that is just too creepy, even for me.

I do not know if the opportunity will ever present itself again for mein doppleganger and me to meet but I vow that I will not hesitate again. Hopefully, a sense of humour runs in the family.

One perfect movie plus others

Why has no one ever told me that The Big Lebowski encapsulates one of my obsessions? No, not bowling - name doppelgangers! It has been ten years since its release and it is clearly a cult classic but it was not until the recent HD DVD fire sale that I decided to give it a chance.

In the movie, Jeff "The Dude" Lebowski (Jeff Bridges) is repeatedly mistaken by thuggish debt collectors for Jeff Lebowski, an LA millionaire. After one of the thugs pees on his rug, The Dude decides to visit his name doppelganger for retribution of some sort. Of course, everything becomes more complicated from there.

Not only does the name doppelganger feature appeal to me but one of the main characters reminds me of my friend, Army Jon. Every time John Goodman's character, Walter Sobchak goes military on the people around him, I chuckle and flinch.

The blind purchase of The Big Lebowski was worth the risk, not like that pretentious piece of crap, Donnie Darko.

Speaking of crap, I recently saw some free movies at the grand opening of the new AMC Theatres at the corner of Yonge and Dundas. All of the movies shown have been released on DVD but here are some mini-reviews in case you were thinking of giving these movies a chance.

Alien vs Predator - Requiem
Joe and I joked that we might not be able to follow the plot because we have not seen the first AVP. Fortunately, the plot is predictable with all characters being paraded like cattle to the slaughter for the Aliens and the Predator. Likely to survive: the mother who has just come home from a military tour of duty, the well-meaning former convict. DOA: the teenage girl who strips down to her underwear, her asshole boyfriend, the woman who says, "Why would the Government lie to us? The Government never lies." Wish he had died: the former convict's milquetoast brother who gets beat up by the asshole boyfriend. The fight sequences are more like badly lit sex scenes; a confusing flurry of torsos and dark limbs. Pretty bad but not bad enough to recommend.

The Mist
Surrounded by unknown dangers hidden in a thick mist, townspeople stuck inside a supermarket struggle to stay alive. There is much suspense generated by the mystery of what will attack next but the greatest tension comes from inside the supermarket where prejudice and scapegoating become the real dangers. There are the usual idiotic characters who deny that anything extraordinary is happening and Marcia Gay Harden's religious nut is a caricature. However, you have to give points to characters that find the growing mob mentality inside the supermarket scarier than whatever might be lurking outside. Worth renting and watching with friends.

Charlie Wilson's War
A look into the people behind the secret American financing of the Afghan rebels during their war with the USSR in the 1980s. I am not a fan of Tom Hanks but as the title character in this movie, he balances sleaze and political acumen believably. The movie also does a balancing act of being a good political satire though by the end, when the shadow of 9/11 is cast most strongly, the movie's treatment of the topic seems too slight in retrospect. Enjoyable but likely a case of preaching to the converted.

3:10 to Yuma
I have been waiting to see this movie since Air Canada rudely disrupted its screening during a recent flight home. So, needless to say, the movie is compelling enough to draw viewers in. Poor Christian Bale spends most of movie being bullied by land barons, Russell Crowe and even his teenage son. In a bid to save his ranch from seizure and get a little respect, Bale agrees to escort outlaw, Crowe to meet the 3:10 train to Yuma Prison with trouble dogging his every move. The acting saves the whole film from becoming as hokey as it sounds.

Turned Japanese - Part 3

On our last night in Japan, we decided to stay at a traditional Japanese hotel (ryokan) near some natural hot springs (onsen). From Tokyo, we took a train that looked like it originated from the 1970s and all the locals turned into paparazzi everywhere it went; locals stood with tripods on the side of the tracks to capture it.

After the unintentional detour, we arrived at the Bunzan Ryokan. Upon our arrival, we were served green tea whipped up into a bright green liquid, and sandy cakes. The woman looking after us was very talkative in spite of the fact that she spoke almost no English and we understood almost no Japanese. This was not a problem during the small talk segment but the instructions on how to use the onsen were more crucial.

Joe and I found the private male and female segregated indoor baths easily enough. Having read the guidebooks extensively, we knew the etiquette: bathe before entering the bath, do not stand while bathing - use the provided stools, etc. (The bath for women is seen on the left. The window to the right overlooked a parking lot so that any driver who looked up could see everything.)

However, we were a little confused on how to get to the outdoor baths for both men and women. However, we were willing to risk embarrassment to find out since the photograph of the onsen seen at the top is what convinced us to go to an onsen ryokan in the first place.

We decided to go exploring first then retrieve whatever equipment we might need later. When we got to the entrance where we had left our shoes behind, we found that our shoes had been replaced with rubber boots in our sizes. These were necessary because the area was covered in snow and because the ice deterrent of choice was a steady spray of water over the pavement. Scary but true.

Joe and I walked merrily over to hot springs, past some caged bears (explanations were in Japanese and therefore unreadable), and found change rooms just outside the springs. After a quick inspection, we marched back to our room and changed into the provided yukatas: three layers provided enough warmth to allow us to walk outside in freezing weather wearing nothing else.

It was not until our return home that realized that we had committed a few social faux pas in spite of our best efforts. The first was at the mixed gender outdoor onsen. Swimsuits were not allowed to prevent contamination of the water. The men covered their crotches with tiny face towels while the few women present covered their torsos in full towels, even in the water. Since I had brought only one towel and did not want to get it wet, I decided to take it off once I got into the water. It seemed like a reasonable idea since it was dusk by the time we got into the water and the steam coming off the water covered almost everything. Turns out that I was supposed to keep the towel on at all times.

So, there I was: the onsen slut, sitting nude in the water while children frolicked close by. To top it off, an obnoxious American started sidling over to me until I prompted Joe to move to the other side of the onsen. Later in the change room, Joe overheard him complaining that there weren't enough nude Japanese women and that he would have to get himself a Russian woman, maybe two.

Our second social faux pas was during the never ending dinner in our room. I made the mistake of sitting in front of the decorated wall while Joe sat facing it. As the man in the relationship, and therefore the assumed head of the household, Joe was supposed to sit in front of the decorated wall. That way, I, the woman and inferior, could admire him in front of the decorated wall. So I sat boorishly in front of the decorated wall, with my legs splayed out under the table. Again, so wrong, in retrospect.

The meal consisted of muliple dishes: flavoured tofu, sashimi, grilled river trout, fresh vegetables, and our favourite, shabu shabu: fondue of kobe beef. Since we did not understand the woman serving us, we reacted with a combination of delight and pain every time she appeared with another course to serve.

Our futons were laid out for us and they were extremely comfortable. We spent the evening watching Japanese television, imagining the various explanations for the relationship between the kickboxer and the nun in one live action remake of a popular manga.

When we woke up the next morning, we were served a huge breakfast consisting of unsweetened yogurt with a berry sauce, poached egg, salad, various pickled items, grilled fish, and my favourite, fermented soy beans (rotting). A bus was scheduled to take us to the train station but we had time to walk around and take photos like the one below.

Our trip to Japan was great and one I would highly recommend to anyone, not only because the culture is so fascinating but also because the locals are so tourist friendly in spite of the language barrier. We'll definitely be back, but with a better grasp of the language and hopefully, the etiquette.

New fangled taste!

I don't like to think of myself as a mindless consumer and yet, I love the new Shreddies campaign. It's hilarious! I can't think of an academic explanation for my enjoyment so hopefully, this ad will make you laugh, too, and then you'll forgive my support of a marketing campaign.
http://www.diamondshreddies.com/