The weekly Vancouver report
My one-month anniversary of living in Vancouver passed with little fanfare, and was treated with mixed emotions. For a while, I plunged into the depths of despair - for all the new people I’ve met, it’s never developed beyond the superficial ‘hey how you doing’ phase, rarely being seen more than once, and certainly never having anyone to randomly call up and do something.
Of course, it hasn’t kept me locked in my basement - so here’s what I’ve been up to in the past week.
Saturday, I took advantage of the weekend one-fare system to go check out North Vancouver. Wandered, climbed some hills, ate a curry chicken wrap at a Caribbean café. I tried to get to Ambleside Beach, but ended up on the bus going the exact opposite direction, stopping at the last bit of civilization before Lynn Valley and Grouse Mountain. I would’ve kept exploring, but Eat!Vancouver, the annual 3 day food festival was on at BC Place. Unlike the food festivals I have been accustomed to in Edmonton, (Taste of Edmonton, CFR Chili Cookoff) this festival was more comprehensive, not really working to promote local restaurants but businesses of all sorts. I discovered a sauce vendor based out of Washington state, a website that directs you to restaurants based on your tastes (although desperately in need of more suggestions), meatless meat, a frightening amount of fruit drinks and smoothies, and the joys of wrangling as much food and liquor from as many sources as possible. I attended cooking seminars by an Indian chef (since the event was so sparsely attended, I went back for seconds of his sample dish) and Vancouver’s own cooking celebrity, Iron Chef alumni and owner of no less than 3 top ranked restaurants Rob Feenie (who deserves all the hype) and sat in a couple sessions of their own Iron Chef competition. I hung around here for about 5 hours once I was confident I’d sucked the bone dry - plus they were shutting down - came home, watched Shrek 3.
Sunday was an even bigger day - I’d been roped into the municipal political party known as Coalition of Progressive Electors, to support the enchantingly named Group of Seven at the executive meeting. That they were a mix of party veterans and young blood focused on bringing together the left wing, as opposed to the Keep It Cope movement preaching a xenophobic “one for all, one for all” ideology made it easier.
I endured 7 hours in the crowded hot community centre not entirely because of my passion for politics and loyalty to my word, but because there was a BBQ/kegger happening right after. Well, it’s how the Liberals got me too. It was a good enough party, I floated around the room and patio, played a couple rounds of badminton, shared my stories, got involved in conversations way out of my intellectual depth. The keg ran out, I headed out for the night.
I worked the entire week, did a couple things but nothing nearly as ambitious as that weekend. I started a language exchange with a civil law graduate immigrant from France and I attended a welcome session for UBC which told me nothing really that I didn’t know before. My morale took a bit of a hit when I found out my roommate was abruptly moving out, to be replaced with a random guy met on Craigslist. I was uncomfortable with the vetting process, and although irrational and more than a little unreasonable, my fears were confirmed when the first applicant dropped off the face of the earth, and turned Friday night into a bit of an open house clusterfuck, settling on a 20 something construction worker who in so far has done nothing to piss me off; took a roll of toilet paper but paid his penance in apologies shortly afterwards.
The weekend, as always, is where I make my mark. Friday night was the Dandy Warhols at the Commodore Ballroom, which was nothing like the Peter Bjorn & John show 3 weeks ago. There were no girls to molest me, and the Dandy Warhols were disturbingly bad. They nailed songs like “Not If You Were The Last Junkie On Earth”, “Boys Better” and “Godless” - relatively simple compositions all of them, but if you were a fan of any of the Welcome To The Monkey House stuff, you left feeling cheated. They didn’t even try to include the elements of the songs the Duran Duran guys brought to the album. I didn’t even stay until the end. The second they pumped out Bohemian Like You I was one foot out the door, gaining a temporary reprieve for “Boys Better”. A valiant ending effort, but not enough to salvage the headliner from being upstaged by their openers the Upsidedown, a dancey rock band with an Ian Curtis impersonator/female vocalist tandem, and the dinner I treated myself to at the 2nd floor patio of Cincin Ristorante on Robson
Saturday, I got involved with a softball tournament found courtesy of Craigslist, out in the recesses of east Vancouver. Made some decent hits, got a hell of a tan, cracked some jokes, ate some burgers, got loaded on homemade beer, smoked some dope, and got recruited as a spare into another league, which I would have played in today had I no lingering hamstring pain, not to mention I was still a bit stoned when I woke up this morning. You see, after 4 games (three I played in) we all headed to the beach with the leftover beer, a couple joints and cookies baked with pot and probably a bit of opium. It didn’t really kick in until I got on the bus home, when time skidded to a halt and things got positively extra-perceptual. The only foolish thing I can account for in this trip report was that I got off my bus a couple stops early with my perception of time and space gone for a ride.
As for today, it was a slow day. I had planned to get a haircut from a place on Cambie - I have a feeling of obligation to support businesses on the Canada line construction strip when they’re taking a huge convenience hit - but it was closed, so instead I checked out a couple grocery stores. One was Caper’s, my unofficial replacement for Sunterra, the kind of grocery store/deli/restaurant that is so good I wouldn’t mind being buried in it. I mention grocery shopping, because it leads to another element I’m exploring here in Vancouver. Through Chris, my now former roommate, and the assortment of healthy living people I’ve met these past few weeks, I’ve essentially been shamed into trying to eat better, no longer cooking up boxed hamburger helpers and packaged pastas with the rare stirfry or salmon on rice delicacy. No, now I’ve been shamed into buying fruits, and vegetables, and now I just might stop buying pre-packaged dinners altogether. Scary, I know - it’s almost like skydiving.
So that’s where I’m at right now, so I’m off to make some dinner, try to draw up some guidelines for eating and hopefully get to At World’s End. Good night and good luck.
Of course, it hasn’t kept me locked in my basement - so here’s what I’ve been up to in the past week.
Saturday, I took advantage of the weekend one-fare system to go check out North Vancouver. Wandered, climbed some hills, ate a curry chicken wrap at a Caribbean café. I tried to get to Ambleside Beach, but ended up on the bus going the exact opposite direction, stopping at the last bit of civilization before Lynn Valley and Grouse Mountain. I would’ve kept exploring, but Eat!Vancouver, the annual 3 day food festival was on at BC Place. Unlike the food festivals I have been accustomed to in Edmonton, (Taste of Edmonton, CFR Chili Cookoff) this festival was more comprehensive, not really working to promote local restaurants but businesses of all sorts. I discovered a sauce vendor based out of Washington state, a website that directs you to restaurants based on your tastes (although desperately in need of more suggestions), meatless meat, a frightening amount of fruit drinks and smoothies, and the joys of wrangling as much food and liquor from as many sources as possible. I attended cooking seminars by an Indian chef (since the event was so sparsely attended, I went back for seconds of his sample dish) and Vancouver’s own cooking celebrity, Iron Chef alumni and owner of no less than 3 top ranked restaurants Rob Feenie (who deserves all the hype) and sat in a couple sessions of their own Iron Chef competition. I hung around here for about 5 hours once I was confident I’d sucked the bone dry - plus they were shutting down - came home, watched Shrek 3.
Sunday was an even bigger day - I’d been roped into the municipal political party known as Coalition of Progressive Electors, to support the enchantingly named Group of Seven at the executive meeting. That they were a mix of party veterans and young blood focused on bringing together the left wing, as opposed to the Keep It Cope movement preaching a xenophobic “one for all, one for all” ideology made it easier.
I endured 7 hours in the crowded hot community centre not entirely because of my passion for politics and loyalty to my word, but because there was a BBQ/kegger happening right after. Well, it’s how the Liberals got me too. It was a good enough party, I floated around the room and patio, played a couple rounds of badminton, shared my stories, got involved in conversations way out of my intellectual depth. The keg ran out, I headed out for the night.
I worked the entire week, did a couple things but nothing nearly as ambitious as that weekend. I started a language exchange with a civil law graduate immigrant from France and I attended a welcome session for UBC which told me nothing really that I didn’t know before. My morale took a bit of a hit when I found out my roommate was abruptly moving out, to be replaced with a random guy met on Craigslist. I was uncomfortable with the vetting process, and although irrational and more than a little unreasonable, my fears were confirmed when the first applicant dropped off the face of the earth, and turned Friday night into a bit of an open house clusterfuck, settling on a 20 something construction worker who in so far has done nothing to piss me off; took a roll of toilet paper but paid his penance in apologies shortly afterwards.
The weekend, as always, is where I make my mark. Friday night was the Dandy Warhols at the Commodore Ballroom, which was nothing like the Peter Bjorn & John show 3 weeks ago. There were no girls to molest me, and the Dandy Warhols were disturbingly bad. They nailed songs like “Not If You Were The Last Junkie On Earth”, “Boys Better” and “Godless” - relatively simple compositions all of them, but if you were a fan of any of the Welcome To The Monkey House stuff, you left feeling cheated. They didn’t even try to include the elements of the songs the Duran Duran guys brought to the album. I didn’t even stay until the end. The second they pumped out Bohemian Like You I was one foot out the door, gaining a temporary reprieve for “Boys Better”. A valiant ending effort, but not enough to salvage the headliner from being upstaged by their openers the Upsidedown, a dancey rock band with an Ian Curtis impersonator/female vocalist tandem, and the dinner I treated myself to at the 2nd floor patio of Cincin Ristorante on Robson
Saturday, I got involved with a softball tournament found courtesy of Craigslist, out in the recesses of east Vancouver. Made some decent hits, got a hell of a tan, cracked some jokes, ate some burgers, got loaded on homemade beer, smoked some dope, and got recruited as a spare into another league, which I would have played in today had I no lingering hamstring pain, not to mention I was still a bit stoned when I woke up this morning. You see, after 4 games (three I played in) we all headed to the beach with the leftover beer, a couple joints and cookies baked with pot and probably a bit of opium. It didn’t really kick in until I got on the bus home, when time skidded to a halt and things got positively extra-perceptual. The only foolish thing I can account for in this trip report was that I got off my bus a couple stops early with my perception of time and space gone for a ride.
As for today, it was a slow day. I had planned to get a haircut from a place on Cambie - I have a feeling of obligation to support businesses on the Canada line construction strip when they’re taking a huge convenience hit - but it was closed, so instead I checked out a couple grocery stores. One was Caper’s, my unofficial replacement for Sunterra, the kind of grocery store/deli/restaurant that is so good I wouldn’t mind being buried in it. I mention grocery shopping, because it leads to another element I’m exploring here in Vancouver. Through Chris, my now former roommate, and the assortment of healthy living people I’ve met these past few weeks, I’ve essentially been shamed into trying to eat better, no longer cooking up boxed hamburger helpers and packaged pastas with the rare stirfry or salmon on rice delicacy. No, now I’ve been shamed into buying fruits, and vegetables, and now I just might stop buying pre-packaged dinners altogether. Scary, I know - it’s almost like skydiving.
So that’s where I’m at right now, so I’m off to make some dinner, try to draw up some guidelines for eating and hopefully get to At World’s End. Good night and good luck.