So I'm having a coffee and a bagel at Cafe Beano when an extremely good looking Venezuelan veterinarian sets a book down on the table next to mine. "Can chou watch this for a minute?" he says in this extremely sexy accent. I say of course. He comes back in a moment, having put another loonie in the meter. We start to chat. This is not abnormal, after all, this is the bohemian local-owned coffee shop Cafe Beano. It's normal that people strike up conversations with strangers here. It's not Starbucks where no one talks to each other cause they're too busy reading the Financial Post.
For a few minutes I think he's flirting with me. And then he mentions his girlfriend and I think, okay, he's not flirting with me. That's fine too. And so I ask what his girlfriend does. He says, "She is a web designer, but she wants to do her Master's in Human Sexuality." Ah. I say. Well, good for her, I'm all for going back to school and being a mature student. "Chess," he says, "she is very OPEN that way..." Ah ha. Now I'm not one to jump to conclusions, and I certainly didn't want to think that this nice young animal doctor might be suggesting anything, oh I don't know, provocative, at 2 pm in the afternoon at Cafe Beano, but it's making me a little suspicious.
Later he says, "I don't start at the Animal Hospital for another two hours... I WONDER what I will do until then...?" Yes. Well. It's a beautiful day for an afternoon off. I'm sure you'll think of something. "Do chou... live around here...?" he asks. Well yes I do. It's a great neighbourhood. You can walk everywhere. He seems slightly confused, as do I, I'm sure. Well, nice talking to you, I say. He says, "Chess... shall we... speak again?" I tell him I am a regular at the coffee shop so sure, maybe I'll see him around some time. "Should we really just...leave it to chance like that?"
Now let me get this straight, I'm thinking, in my head. You, sir, you're not REALLY expecting that after two minutes of pleasant chat and "I'm a veterinarian in an emergency animal hospital" in a cute Spanish accent, that I will a) invite you, a complete stranger, into my home for an afternoon tryst or b) come back with you to your townhouse and engage in a threesome with you and your very Open Human Sexuality girlfriend? Are you? Are you really expecting that will work? Does it? Regularly? Like give me an average out of ten. How many times out of ten do you hit paydirt with this one?
But I don't say this. I just say, who knows, maybe I'll see you around. Have a nice day. And I put on my hat and walk out into the lovely spring afternoon.
- Falcon.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
The Arrrt of the Nude
My life, chaotic circus that it is, it's unbelievable what I get myself into.
This weekend I will be in Vancouver for an audition, and am staying at a friend's place. So last night I am talking to my friend about the weekend itinerary, and he mentions that he is shooting some kind of arty nude thing on the weekend for a friend of his. I guess this guy is taking inspiration from famous paintings and "bringing them to life." Pygmalion, Modigliani, that sort of thing. (my suggestion would be Manet - who doesn't like a Dejeuner Sur L'Herbe anyway?) This professional actor/amateur filmmaker has managed to get all his friends - a Wreck Beach-Basketful of well known local actors - to be part of this thing for free. My host was trying to get out of shooting this weekend, since, he explained, he had a friend coming into town (me). The filmmaker's response was, well, why don't you bring her along... You know, as in, he could "write" a part for me. So my friend was feeling me out on this question, as it were.
Now, maybe I laughed a little bit TOO much and too loud at this suggestion. It's not that I'm opposed to nudity on film, in principle, but I think I'd need better lighting and better make-up than this guy has at his disposal in his living room or wherever he's shooting this thing. I do have a certain amount of vanity, I admit it, and fear looking like the ugly stepsister/somebody's mom next to all these young nubiles. I don't necessarily want to be Vancouver's answer to Desperate Housewives. Anyway, I think I said I'd do it if I could have a pseudonym (and a shot of tequila). I think I would have said a mask too, except that my face is the one part I don't mind having exposed...
After having had some time to think about it, I'm sure I'll be disappointed if I don't do it. After all, it would definitely fit into the "never done that before" and "scares me a little" categories, which usually means it's something worth doing. Ultimately, no animals will be injured during the making of this movie, so why the hell not. I don't live there. Who's going to know or care who I am? It will remind me of my old Montreal days, when my roommate Tracey (wannabe lesbian) used to make soft core girl on girl vidoes with the upstairs neighbour Miroslav. I have a feeling this will be much tamer, much artier, more pretentious, although probably with similar production values.
And it's not like it'll be available on the internet... only on big screens at independent film festivals across North America...
Any opinions out there?
- Falcon.
This weekend I will be in Vancouver for an audition, and am staying at a friend's place. So last night I am talking to my friend about the weekend itinerary, and he mentions that he is shooting some kind of arty nude thing on the weekend for a friend of his. I guess this guy is taking inspiration from famous paintings and "bringing them to life." Pygmalion, Modigliani, that sort of thing. (my suggestion would be Manet - who doesn't like a Dejeuner Sur L'Herbe anyway?) This professional actor/amateur filmmaker has managed to get all his friends - a Wreck Beach-Basketful of well known local actors - to be part of this thing for free. My host was trying to get out of shooting this weekend, since, he explained, he had a friend coming into town (me). The filmmaker's response was, well, why don't you bring her along... You know, as in, he could "write" a part for me. So my friend was feeling me out on this question, as it were.
Now, maybe I laughed a little bit TOO much and too loud at this suggestion. It's not that I'm opposed to nudity on film, in principle, but I think I'd need better lighting and better make-up than this guy has at his disposal in his living room or wherever he's shooting this thing. I do have a certain amount of vanity, I admit it, and fear looking like the ugly stepsister/somebody's mom next to all these young nubiles. I don't necessarily want to be Vancouver's answer to Desperate Housewives. Anyway, I think I said I'd do it if I could have a pseudonym (and a shot of tequila). I think I would have said a mask too, except that my face is the one part I don't mind having exposed...
After having had some time to think about it, I'm sure I'll be disappointed if I don't do it. After all, it would definitely fit into the "never done that before" and "scares me a little" categories, which usually means it's something worth doing. Ultimately, no animals will be injured during the making of this movie, so why the hell not. I don't live there. Who's going to know or care who I am? It will remind me of my old Montreal days, when my roommate Tracey (wannabe lesbian) used to make soft core girl on girl vidoes with the upstairs neighbour Miroslav. I have a feeling this will be much tamer, much artier, more pretentious, although probably with similar production values.
And it's not like it'll be available on the internet... only on big screens at independent film festivals across North America...
Any opinions out there?
- Falcon.
Friday, April 08, 2005
How Dangerous IS Aspartame?
So I'm at Safeway the other day, and in the aisle they're shilling CDs for The Canadian Will kit. That's right, it's your do-it-yourself legacy. There are like 50 of them stacked there - in the soda pop aisle. You know, like, "What do I need? Hmmm... Pepsi...Pepsi...Diet Pepsi...Death. Okay, now I'm ready to hit the check out."
- Falcon
- Falcon
Blonde Justice
Welcome to one of my biggest blonde moment to date:
Tuesday. I walk home from work downtown. I have to go to the library, so I go out back of my building to get my car. And...
Oh NOOO!! It's not there!!! I panic. Where the hell's my car??!!
I think and think and think. And then I remember - I parked it downtown.
THREE DAYS AGO.
Yes, friends, I parked my car on 10th Avenue downtown, Sunday morning. I was on my way to work at the museum after brunch with Misha. Normally I would park at home and walk. But because Misha was heading downtown as well, I just parked close in. I said, "Misha! Don't let me forget I drove today!" He almost called me at 5 that afternoon to remind me about it, but he thought , "Naah, she'll remember."
And now here it is, Tuesday at 5 pm. I call the impound lot but they haven't seen it. But first, before I find this out, I have to go through this humiliation: "Ma'am, do you know your license plate number?" "Um, I think I do --- just tell me, do the letters or the numbers come first?"
So I go downtown, I pass by Misha's place of business and take him along with me. After all, he was there when I parked it, he might as well be there when I picked it up. And sure enough, there was El Toro, the only car on 10th Ave., with a sign that warned of towing at midnight on Tuesday.
On the windshield was a $20 ticket. That's it. You can't park legitimately for that kind of deal. And as if that wasn't amazing enough -
The back door was unlocked.
My car sat, unlocked, in a shadyish neck of the urban woods, for THREE DAYS, and all I got was a $20 ticket.
I am the luckiest, if dumbest, bastard around.
Feel free to share your own blonde memories...
- Falcon
Tuesday. I walk home from work downtown. I have to go to the library, so I go out back of my building to get my car. And...
Oh NOOO!! It's not there!!! I panic. Where the hell's my car??!!
I think and think and think. And then I remember - I parked it downtown.
THREE DAYS AGO.
Yes, friends, I parked my car on 10th Avenue downtown, Sunday morning. I was on my way to work at the museum after brunch with Misha. Normally I would park at home and walk. But because Misha was heading downtown as well, I just parked close in. I said, "Misha! Don't let me forget I drove today!" He almost called me at 5 that afternoon to remind me about it, but he thought , "Naah, she'll remember."
And now here it is, Tuesday at 5 pm. I call the impound lot but they haven't seen it. But first, before I find this out, I have to go through this humiliation: "Ma'am, do you know your license plate number?" "Um, I think I do --- just tell me, do the letters or the numbers come first?"
So I go downtown, I pass by Misha's place of business and take him along with me. After all, he was there when I parked it, he might as well be there when I picked it up. And sure enough, there was El Toro, the only car on 10th Ave., with a sign that warned of towing at midnight on Tuesday.
On the windshield was a $20 ticket. That's it. You can't park legitimately for that kind of deal. And as if that wasn't amazing enough -
The back door was unlocked.
My car sat, unlocked, in a shadyish neck of the urban woods, for THREE DAYS, and all I got was a $20 ticket.
I am the luckiest, if dumbest, bastard around.
Feel free to share your own blonde memories...
- Falcon
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