A surprisingly warm day, the warmth, however, tempered with stong 90-120 km wind gusts.
The boy and I have our unfixed plans, driving for lunch we decide to try and get rush tickets to Blithe Spirit, a Noel Coward play at the Vertigo. Now I've seen some press for it, but not particularly paid any attention to it, not my sort of think, nonetheless Noel Coward does have a certain reputation and I shouldn't perhaps be so judgmental, at least not until I've seen it.
We talk about his week, my week, no news to report, more details about the Nephew's drunken night out - Nephew and the 7 Samurai, apparently caught groping a rather large girl in another dire NE bar, was confronted by her boyfriend who attempted to pick a fight, Nephew, however, had been treating a group of 7 Japanese business people to shots and so when the boyfriend started a scene the Nephew erupted into a rage, wherein the Japanese businessmen felt obliged to defend their most drunken and magnanimous host, more surreal stories from the crypt, I miss out on an awful lot of fodder by going home sober...
I ask the boy if he's seen "Into the wild" yet, my film recommendation for him, he makes excuses, he knows he's in the shit...
I ask him what he's reading, nothing at the moment, he's been wanting my advice...
Out of the shit.
We stop at Fair's probably not even slightly fair, I mean to get him a copy of Celine's "Death on the Installment Plan" if they have it. They don't. But - and here's the highlight of the day - a first edition of "Lolita". This is a great book, Nabokov, that I've noticed principally in it's absence from bookshelves in Calgary. A find, $15.00, and a copy of Moby Dick for the boy.
This will be my reading day tomorrow, kicked from the house at 8:00 for the car servicing and by the contractors, I can pass the day reliving one of the greatest books I've ever read....
Lunch we take at WURST - somewhat fashionable new restaurant in Mission - on 4 ST SW. Bright, summery inside with giant silk trees and an attractive staff, we eat quietly and eavesdrop on the table next to us. A large, obese in fact, 40 something man with his slender 40 something Japanese wife, their 5 year old child, and her aged parents. The man is a boor, talking loudly at them as if they don't speak any English, their English is perfect, they're probably 3rd or 4th generation Canadian. He repeats things, louder, he tells them about himself, about what he doesn't like at their house, what he does like, he has a surprisingly small vocabulary for someone with such a well trimmed goatee....
It's painful, eavesdropping on this, and we're too close to comment but I catch the boy's eye and he's thinking the same thing, "Meet the Parents" I whisper, and he turns his head, doesn't want to discuss it, refuses to acknowledge that possibly I might not be as bad as all that....
"A special case" he assures me when we walk to the car...
From here to Cafe Beano, we have an hour to kill, Sunday at Cafe Beano is people watching paradise, they're all here, the hipsters, granolas, Academics, hippies, courier bike riders, women on guitars singing bravely in the face of 100 km wind gusts that threatens to topple trees upon them, Bollywood film directors, it's great.
Then the play.
The Play. This is the play Homer Simpson was thinking of when he said "A Play, A Play, what could be more boring than a play?".
The audience should have been a big clue.
Now, it was well done, and the abundant grey heads and woolen shawls all laughed merrily at the jokes. I got the jokes, they weren't particularly funny. Maybe in 1941, but not now. But it's well staged, acted, the Vertigo does polished productions, but everything else about it was simply not even slightly amusing. The boy sat through it numb as well. Someone should go back in time and kill Noel Coward.
It takes stuff like this, once in a while, to make you appreciate The Grand, appreciate the fact that they're at least taking risks, presenting theater that's relevant, novel, this play, it was everything that everyone who's never returned to the theatre expects. Generic, awful, mind-numbing....
Even the boy struggles to find something positive to say, finally he just agrees that we need this to appreciate the great theatre we sometimes stumble into....
The day ends on this note, the downtown core blocked off due to high winds, empty inside, driving home to a house filled with dust...