Weekend Round Up: BBQ, Demolition, Maple Syrup

Friday: Started the weekend a little early with a 5 a 7 on Thursday at work. Finally got a chance to talk to some co-workers not in my department and alternated between playing Rock Band and watching the first two periods of the Habs game projected on the wall on the cafeteria.

On Friday my teammate Susie invited the rest of the English team to join her for lunch, although only Fred and I were able to. We ended up at a cute little Chinese/Thai place on Beaubien, not far from my house. After work I met L at Club Video Beaubien to pick out some flicks for the weekend, but limited ourselves to two because Mark and Andrea had invited us over for BBQ. Being that we had a little time to kill we wandered up to Plaza St-Hubert and I bought my first ever bikini. It's brown with blue flower accents, and it was on clearance so it was very cheap.

After snagging beer and burgers at IGA we wandered over to Mark and Andrea's place in St-Henri. After dinner we amused ourselves watching Flight of the Concords videos on YouTube and I laughed like a maniac. Being that I hadn't actually slept that well Thurday night, I was dead tired by about midnight so we took a cab home and I crashed out hard.

Saturday: Being that I knew we were going to be eating a big-ass breakfast on Sunday, we opted not to go out in the morning and I did some pilates. Then we got ready and headed out to run errands. The shredder we'd gotten less than a month ago never worked so we went to Bureau en Gros to return it, and as I'd suspected we weren't the only ones having trouble with that model. Afterwards we headed up to Zellers to pick up some more stuff for our backyard project with the Gift Card my brother had gotten me for Christmas. As we were lugging all our goodies back with us on the Metro a girl actually approached us to ask if we were moving (apparently she had something to sell us if we were). We told her no and continued on our way.

Back home L got to work demolishing the faux deck thing in our backyard, but it turns out most of the work had been done for him. The whole thing was so rotted and poorly constructed in the first place that he was able to pull most of it apart with his hands. Luckily the soil underneath looks like it's in pretty good condition so it shouldn't take too much more work to prep everything in time for L's dad's arrival to build our garden. Meanwhile L has thoughts of paving stones and patio sets dancing through his head.

Later, Alain and Marie-Claude came over to watch the game. After a disappointing loss we opted to watch Living in Oblivion to boost our spirits. I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it before, especially since it has my boy, Peter Dinklage. I doubt Dermot Mulroney has been better in a movie.

Sunday: Sadly we hadn't gotten as much sleep on Saturday as we would have liked, but we still made it to the parking lot of my office in time to catch our ride to the Au Pied Des Erables cabane a sucre. The social committee at work had organized a last minute sugar shack outing and I had jumped at the chance to enjoy the tail end of the season.

I had never been to a sugar shack before and had not really known what to expect, but I have it on good authority that the one that we went to was quite good. Basically, a sugar shack outing usually involves a meal around a large communal table, followed by tire on snow. The food is generally homey old-fashioned fare: potatoes, fluffy omelet, pancakes, baked beans and ham, all with liberal dousings of maple syrup. After gorging ourselves, the group went for a little nature walk where we found a grass snack and a tiny black froggie.

After the ride back I had a little nap and L continued to work on the back deck, then we had some burgers and watched The Kiss of the Vampire, which while not one of the best Hammer horror's, does boast one of the most amazing endings to a vampire film I have ever seen. If you're a Hammer fan and you haven't seen it yet, it is worth checking out for that alone.

French Slang Saturday: Niais, Niaiser, Niaiserie, Niaiseux

Sorry this didn't get posted yesterday. I'd done a really good job of editing it too, except iMovie crashed and my files were locked in trash-limbo and then Alain and his computer skills had to save them, but I still couldn't edit anything, so we had to import it all into Final Cut...

But it's done. So here you go:

This one's a four parter, all four words having a common root.

niais[e] [n]: Originally it was used to describe a bird that had not yet left the nest, but it is now used to describe someone who is naive or thick.

niaiser [v]: To joke, annoy or lie. To behave like an ass.

niaiserie [n]: Something not to be taken seriously. Something frivolous or silly.

niaiseux [n]: One who is obnoxious or undesirable. A simpleton or ass. Commonly used as an insult.

Movies I Watched Instead of Writing: Apocalypse Edition

Last weekend we watched three movies with apocalyptic overtones, but luckily it is sunny and warm and the Habs are winning so my outlook is still pretty positive.

First up, Right at Your Door (2006): This one screened at Fantasia last year as part of a series on Urban Apocalypses that included Mulberry Street (see below) and the excellent The Signal. The premise is straight forward enough: after seeing his wife, Lexi (Mary McCormack) off to work, Brad (Rory Cochrane, best known as Slater from Dazed and Confused) is shaken from his lazy morning routine by a series of explosions in downtown L.A. Being the good husband he is, his first instinct is to hit the road and rescue his wife who is stuck in traffic with a dead cell phone, but panicking cops and fellow motorists mean that he can't get past the L.A. suburb where there new house is located. He returns home to plot his next move and is startled to find the gardener from next door in his house. The gardener convinces Brad to seal up his house from the inside as the radio instructs as it now seems the explosions were "dirty" in nature and toxic ash is showering down on most of the Los Angeles area.

The real drama starts when Lexi returns, having walked home after abandoning her car on the freeway. Being that Brad isn't the only one in the house now, he makes the agonizing decision to leave Lexi outside since she is covered in ash and therefore "contaminated". Will she survive long enough for help to find them, and when help does arrive, will it be enough?

While certainly far from perfect, Right At Your Door does an excellent job of ratcheting up the tension with limited funds and locations. Writer/Director Chris Gorak wisely puts the focus on the actors, making the film more about Brad and Lexi's relationship than about the citywide meltdown happening around them. The result is a film that is instantly relevant to the viewer, unlike other overblown apocalyptic films like Deep Impact, for example. The film is as much about whether Lexi will survive her toxic exposure as whether Lexi and Brad's relationship will survive this incredible strain on their relationship.

Where the film starts to break down is after the introduction of new characters and locations. Lexi strays multiple times from the back porch, sneaking through neighbors yards and even rescues a young boy she finds wandering around. The introduction of the child does add a nice moment where Brad ponders about the children they never had, but the forays ultimately slow down the momentum that has been building and dilutes the feeling or claustrophobia that drives much of the tension in the film.

However, these nitpicks are minor in light of the excellent performances provided by both Cochrane and McCormack. The chemistry between the two actors is very good and it is easy to believe that they are a married couple in their 30's full of love and frustrations. Where the film really breaks down is the Twilight Zone-ish twist ending, but everything else up to that point is good enough to still recommend the film highly as a well written, intelligent and nuanced portrait of urban paranoia.

Later that same day we indulged our curiosity and rented Southland Tales (2006), Richard Kelly's long shelved follow up to Donnie Darko. Remember how I was talking about overblown crap? This is pretty much the definition. While I'm sure Kelly and his buddies in the movie (including Kevin Smith) will get a kick out of watching the movie together and reminiscing about the fun they had shooting it, I cannot figure out for the life of me how it got made in the first place. It is confusing, poorly constructed, wildly self-indulgent and ultimately, largely boring.

Somehow, there is still a certain charm to it that I can't quite place my finger on. Maybe it's the fact that it's so clearly the bizarre vision of one person, even if that vision isn't really that interesting. Maybe it's the fact that the best performances in the thing come from Seann William Scott and Sarah Michelle Geller. Maybe it's to do with the rampant stunt casting: Christopher Lambert as an underground militant, Wallace Shawn in lipstick, Kevin Smith in old-man make-up... Maybe it has to do with Kelly's choice to cast the comedians in the dramatic roles (Cheri Oteri, Will Sasso, Jon Lovitz, Amy Poeler, etc.) with mixed results. However, whatever it is it is not enough to recommend the film. It is just too long and too weird and too all over the place to justify sacrificing 2 and a half hours of your life to watch it. Oh, did I mention it's narrated by Justin Timberlake?

Normally I revel in the "so bad it's good", but Southland Tales feels more misguided than anything else. It clearly wants to be funny and wacky, but is instead tacky and forced. The script feels mainly like an excuse to get famous people to say really dirty things. The construction of this post-apocalyptic world wants to be nuanced and political, but is instead juvenile and half-baked. I can't call it a disappointment because my expectations going in were very low, but it will undoubtedly go down in history as one of the greatest miscalculations a major studio has ever made. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention: it's also a musical. Drugs might have helped, but I kinda doubt it.

Luckily, the third film of the day washed away the stale taste. Mulberry Street is similar to Right at Your Door in that they are both low budget, limited location horror flicks with a very simple premise. This time the setting is New York and the premise is this: the rats have started attacking people who then turn into ferocious, man-eating "rat people". Sounds pretty stupid, right? Well it isn't. It's actually really, really good and the perfect antidote to overblown crap.

Like Right at Your Door, Mulberry Street focuses on characters to make the outlandish events accessible to the viewer. The setting is a tenement on Mulberry Street which has recently been purchased for development with the tenants facing imminent eviction. The first character we are introduced to is Clutch (Nick Damici), a retired boxer awaiting the return of his daughter, Casey (Kim Blair), who has just been released from the veteran's hospital after a stint in Iraq. Clutch is a good guy, shy when it comes to women (specifically his neighbor Kay (Bo Corre)), and always willing to help out the elderly or less fortunate. Damici, who also co-wrote the script, gives an excellent and nuanced performance, really adding to the film's effectiveness.

The rest of the plot is fairly formulaic: rats attack people, people attack people, everybody freaks out, citizens of tenement fight back; but what makes it work is what director Jim Mickle left out. First off, there are no guns & no clever kills. Clutch and Casey fight back with what they've got: fists and heavy things. Second, there are no clever one liners. which isn't to say there aren't moments of humour, but it's the kind of dark, deadpan humour that suits the story and the characters. And most importantly, the film is not a cliche laden, movie referencing comedy. Everything is played deadly straight, resulting in real empathy, real tension and real suspense.

Shot for about $30,000 in the director's apartment, Mulberry Street is the kind of serious, thoughtful indie horror that deserves to be celebrated. Highly recommended.

French Slang... Tuesday? : Hockey Edition

In this episode, which is dedicated to the Habs, we go over some classic hockey terminology.



Also, for the record we had nothing to do with the riot last night. People are stupid.

Weekend Round Up: Movies, Gardening, Bloodsports

Friday: By the time Friday rolled around I was dead dog tired. Never did recover from our whirlwind trip to the Saguenay and I trapped in a bad habits of going into work late and leaving late. After work I walked down to Mile End to buy cosmetics at the organic grocery store we found a couple of weeks earlier. Called L. at home and he met me there so we could find a place to eat together. On the way to the Polish restaurant/general store L. had spotted on his way to meet me we ran into an old friend of my sister's. I told her that my sis would be visiting me in June and she gave me her number so they could hook-up.

At the Polish place we got the platter for two, which consisted of two kinds of perogies, cabbage rolls, Polish sausage, goulash, potato dumplings & something called "hunter's stew". It all had a wonderful homemade taste and was all together delicious and extremely filling. Actually, a little too filling for me, if truth be told. That said, I would gladly go back for their chicken perogies any day.

After dinner we went back to the house so L. could change as we decided that at least he should go to the party we'd been invited to by Mark & Andrea. I was just too tired. L. walked me to the video store so I could grab some DVDs I knew he wouldn't want to watch and he continued on to the Metro. I settled on an eclectic triple bill of Primer, Paprika and The Sea Hawk.

After thoroughly bending my brain with the first too films, I was still up watching ol' Errol Flinn when L. came home around 2 AM. Turns out the couple with the two cats who were on the flight from Vancouver with us were at the party. Small world.

Saturday: Since the weather was still good we decided to focus to getting stuff together for our garden since L.'s dad would be arriving soon to help us with it and we hadn't even started demolishing the faux deck yet.

After a surprisingly tasty breakfast at a new place on Parc in Mile End, we opted to pop in to Rona to start amassing supplies. We got a crowbar to start the demo, as well as planters and lots of dirt. I also grabbed a bunch of seeds and a little rake and a trowel to start working the soil.

When we got home, I determined that we didn't have enough soil and we also needed some rocks for drainage so we ventured out again to Home Depot to pick up the rest of what we needed. L. and I both put out our backs carrying home big heavy bags of dirt and rocks. I spent the rest of the afternoon building my Martha style tiered planter (thanks for the tip, Bean!) and cleaning the garbage and weeds out of our front "yard". L. meanwhile took charge of cleaning the inside of the house in anticipation of our hockey watching guests.

I was anticipating an easy Habs victory, meaning that they could move on to the next round of the playoffs. But no. They let an early lead go as we all howled and wailed at the television, deeply disturbing poor K.C. I think he was just upset we hadn't gotten him a little Canadiens jersey yet.

After the game Andrea had to make an appearance at a birthday party and I convinced everyone once else to follow me to the creepy sports bar near our place to watch the Georges St-Pierre/Matt Sera UFC match. Yeah, that's right, UFC. I had recently discovered Georges St-Pierre on RDS late one Friday night about a month ago. Actually, the fight I saw was the titled bought he had lost to Matt Sera where St-Pierre had been strongly favoured, but had gotten his ass handed to him in violent and mildly disturbing fashion. Hearing that a rematch was on the horizon and knowing that it was going to be held in St-Pierre's hometown of Montreal I was very interested in seeing the fight, but after the Canadiens' shocking loss, it was imperative. I had to see someone from Montreal win something that night!

We quickly found a spot amongst our fellow depressed Canadiens fans and settled in for the fight. There were four matches before the main event and we quickly determined that we could guess the winner from their entrance theme. Dude who entered to the Verve Pipe did not do well. Our boy St-Pierre came out to a French Rap song, so we knew he'd do well.

There were a number of Canadians fighting, including St-Pierre. The first fight involved a kid from Toronto named Mark Bocek who lost, but he stayed in all three rounds despite crying blood through two of them, so he did okay. However, this show of true Canadian grit augmented our disappointment at Kaleb Starnes of Surrey's performance, dancing around so his opponent, Nate Quarry, couldn't even take a swing. My other faves (incidentally they also won their respective fights) were Mancurian Michael Bisping and Rich Franklin.

Finally it was time for the main event. Everyone was channeling their hockey frustrations towards Matt Sera. Although he comes from NY, to us he represented Boston. And we howled with blood lust as Georges St-Pierre charged into the octagon and pummeled Sera like he should have the first time. While Alain was hoping they would go at least three rounds, it was called near the end of the second round, St-Pierre winning on a TKO.

Sadly, Andrea arrived just as the match finished, so she missed out on our vicarious vengence. Alain and MC had to go home, but Mark and Andrea followed us back home to watch a movie. Being that Andrea needed some serious cheering up we pulled out the Showgirls box set again, although this time we abstained from the drinking game. However, we did play a quick round of Pin the Pasties on Elizabeth Berkley just for fun.

At about 3:30 AM, Mark and Andrea said their farewells and L. and I crawled into bed.

Sunday: Annie called at 10:30 AM to see if we were still up for breakfast before salsa dancing. Being that neither of us could move, we opted to skip both, knowing that skipping a second week of dancing lessons essentially meant we were dropping out of the class. But we promised instead to join up the next classic ballroom class offered at the same studio in May.

After lying in bed as long as we could we moved to the couch and watch Right At Your Door, a surprisingly effective low-budget apocalyptic flick we'd missed at last year's Fantasia. While the ending was a little too Twilight Zone for my liking, it was still quite well done and I totally recommend checking it out, especially if you have a crush on Rory Cochran like I do.

After the movie we decided to get dressed and located some cash, cheap food and more DVDs. We ended up at Le Roi Du Smoked Meat in St-Hubert plaza where we ate our meal in the company of an Italian bridal shower upstairs. Luckily they had Mulberry Street, another one we missed at Fantasia which L. has been obsessed with, at the video store. I also got to pick a film and for some reason opted for Richard Kelly's epic mess, Southland Tales.

After enduring Southland Tales, where about every three minutes L. and I would look at each other and say "Uh, what?" we opted to at least make a real dinner to make up for our complete lack of motivation in every other aspect of our day. Then it was on to Mulberry Street, which did not disappoint. If you like old school survivalist horror, see this movie. I highly, highly recommend it.

Sadly our viewing of the film was interrupted by a mini-infestation of some sort of horrible multi-legged bug I had never seen before. They came one by one, but there were three of them. Each dispatched in turn by L.'s boot and quickly disposed of so we knew it wasn't just the same one. Even K.C. was scared of these things, backing away as is skited across the floor. Somehow, despite all this we managed to get to bed a decent hour so that we could start the week in better shape than the last one.

Weekend Round Up: My Saguenay Adventure

Friday: Went into work super early so that I could leave at 4:00 PM without dipping into my vacation time, which was hard because I was starting to come down with a sinus cold. Spent the day starring at my monitor in a fog, but still managed to get something done. At exactly 4 PM, I met L., Annie & Mel in the parking lot and we started our trip north.

It took about an hour to get off the island, and if we had waited even half an hour later it would have taken three times that long. Mel managed not to get into any road rage incidents with anyone, which was good and I prayed to St. Christopher as I do anytime I get into a car with someone in Quebec. Not that I've converted or anything, it's just that scary.

After a quick supper at a St-Hubert Express in Trois Rivieres it was back onto the road. Sadly it was too dark for me to enjoy the view on the treacherous Parc, and it had started snowing, but the trip was pretty uneventful. We got to Annie's parents' (L.'s taunt Denise and oncle Evans) place around 10:30 PM and we hung out in the kitchen talking and looking at Annie's sister Jasmine's pictures of South American beetles.

At around midnight we bid our farewells and Evans gave us a lift to L.'s cousin Valerie's charming little trailer home where we would be spending the night as Valerie was actually in Montreal for the weekend at a dance conference. Again, Saguenay hospitality was offered in spades and L. noted that a boy cousin probably wouldn't have thought to leave out towels for us.

Saturday: After a restful night we called L.'s step-dad Yves who was also in town for L.'s cousin Dave's anniversary memorial (the real reason for our trip) who picked us up so we could all have breakfast together.

Being that it was nearly noon, finding a place for breakfast was a bit of a struggle, but we did manage to find somewhere that was still serving. There was some minor drama regarding the coffee and I thoroughly confused the waitress by asking for black tea (I got Earl Grey and an apology).

After breakfast we toured around the Saguenay at bit on our way to the fromagerie Boivin (cheese factory?).





The Saguenay is a very interesting and beautiful city, that is actually three cities merged together: Chicoutimi, Jonquière and La Baie. L. had lived in all three areas at various times, and the cities that make up Ville de Saguenay were actually made up of smaller cities and towns. It is actually a Fjord but is mostly agricultural, with rolling hills and fields. The main industry is still Alcan, one of the first to settle in the area. We actually found out recently that my uncle Martin (my mom's sister's husband) had done co-op work for Alcan while in college in Arvida, now part of Jonquière.

Unfortunately the weather was a bit inclement and it started snowing again. We drove around taking photographs and L. bought a bag of warm, fresh, squeeky cheese curds. That's right, squeeky. That's how you can tell they're fresh. In joual, the sound they make is "skouik, skouik".

Around 3 PM we arrived at L.'s dad's place in Jonquière. It's a beautiful Victorian era apartment, originally built by Alcan when they opened their first facility. It even has a dining room! Yves hung out a bit with us all and L. got to play with Nicole's dog Noisette.

Later, Nicole's daughter Katherine showed up with a giant tourtière, the official meal of the Saguenay. L. had two helpings and we saved him some for breakfast. After dinner we all sat down to watch the Canadiens game, when L.'s half brother John and his mother, Florence, came by for a visit. It was a very nice surprise as it had been a couple years since L. had last seen John and we had a very good conversation about video games and film. It turns out that John had been interested in pursuing a career as a game designer, but stumbled into starting a degree in art instead.

It was a little overwhelming for me to meet so much of L.'s family all at once, but most people I had met before and everyone was so welcoming and genuinely nice that it was really a pleasure. Everyone seemed very excited to meet me, and L. boasted that I was the reason he had decided to move back to Quebec.

Sunday: Went to my first Catholic mass. Ever. It was actually less scary than I expected, due mostly to the engaging young priest with a goatee and skate shoes under his robes. After mass we went for a brunch buffet with the rest of the friends and family, where L. had (believe it or not) more tourtière. I met more of L.'s family and he and his cousin Caroline talked about how somebody from their side of the family better start having babies soon.

After brunch we visited with L.'s tant Reine and oncle Arthur while Yves gathered his stuff as he had been staying with them for the weekend. Arthur taught us about L.'s ancestor's (apparently the Malthais side of the family is originally from the Isle of Malta) and Reine asked if my parents spoke French at home, probably the best compliment I've ever received.

Then it was off to Ste-Foy (next door to Quebec city) with Yves so we could catch a bus back to Montreal. Luckily we were able to catch an express bus and made it back in time to catch the third period of the game.

Concert Mini-Review: Hot Chip

As part of my Total Life Reboot I've been trying to get back into music, and have been listening to a lot of Last FM. I've then been cross referencing the new bands I've discovered while listening at work to the local concert listings in the Hour and Mirror weeklies to discover shows to go to. And that is how we ended up at Hot Chip last night at the Metropolis.

It was our second trip to the Metropolis, the first being around Christmas for the St-Phonic gig. It is one of the larger club style venues in Montreal, similar to the Commodore in Vancouver, only with two bars and a balcony. The place was already quite full when we got there, and happily enough we seemed to fall only slightly on the older end of the crowd.

We only caught a bit of the opening act, whose name escapes me -- which is probably for the best since they were terribly underwhelming (actually, kind of just plain terrible). Got drinks at the upstairs bar, which I guess worked out because the bartender first gave me half a shot before the dispenser thing malfunctioned, so he put in another full shot, then tipped over my cup and spilled about half my rum on the bar, so he added another full shot to what remained, meaning that my rum and coke was about 50/50 rum to coke.

After our bar misadventures we headed down towards the stage to meet up with Chris and Lee (different Lee). This is where we discovered that they actually have a guy with drinks on a tray selling them to people near the front of the stage. How civilized!

The show was great and it was great to see so many people (straight men included) dancing like little maniacs. I danced also like a little maniac and maneuvered my way towards the center of the stage.The lead singer reminded me a lot of Mark Mothersbaugh, only tinier and nerdier with an even more beautiful voice. L. was impressed with the musicianship of the group, especially considering their overtly dance-y sound. I was more moved by the lyrical content and energy.

Here are some tunes to check out:

Shake a Fist
Boy From School
Ready for the Floor

French Slang Saturdays: Joual

Hey kids,

No video this week as L. and I are in the Saguenay visiting L's family.

However, I figured I'd throw up a few links about joual [n] [prounouced: zwahl], the working class dialect of Quebecois French. The word itself comes from the French word for horse, cheval as in pronouncing it in one syllable. It is also important to note that because joual is chiefly a spoken dialect, spelling variations for joual words are common.

From the Canadian Encyclopedia.

Joual Vert - The unofficial dictionary of Quebecois French.

A CBC files about Michel Tremblay and his landmark play Les Belles-soeurs, which was the first internationally recognized play written in joual.

The Sweater

In honour of the Canadiens playoff win last night, a modern take on a classic Canadian story.

Bonus: Cute story on cbc.ca about Habs fever.

Movies I Watched Instead of Writing: Junior

The NFB (ONF out here) does a free screening series on Tuesdays at their Cineroboteque downtown and this week Marie-Claude and I checked out a very interesting documentary about junior hockey called, appropriately enough, Junior.

Filmmakers Isabelle Lavigne and Stephane Thibault followed the Baie-Comeau Drakkar for an entire season, focusing not on the drama on the ice, but the drama off the ice. In fact, there is no game footage in the film at all.

For people not that familiar with the behind the scenes of Major Junior League hockey, the film is definitely an eye opener. The majority of the players have agents and the business aspects of the league are obvious. While the coaches do believe that they can turn these boys, generally in the 16 - 20 age range, into major league players, they have other considerations as well: filling seats, keeping league officials and team owners happy and potentially propelling their own careers.

The film opens with Benjamin Brault, one of the Drakkar's star players being lectured by a man we eventually learn is his agent. His face is that typically blank canvas of the teenage male visage, equal parts stoicism and dumbfoundedness. We are not sure how much of this he is absorbing, but we are equally unsure of how much we want him to absorb. For a kid who really does look like he'd rather hang out with girls and party all night, there is a lot of pressure coming from a lot of different places.

The film is particularly hard hitting because of the techniques employed by the directors. There is no game footage, and there are also no interviews. All reactions are authentic, as they happened. The sense of the audience really is that of being a fly on the wall, in the locker room, in the coach's office, on the bus, in hotel rooms. We are even privy to a secret trade negotiating meeting in a Tim Hortons (it really doesn't get much more Canadian, does it?)

Typically poker faced players and coaches are subjected to unending close-ups, the better to catch a tell-tale eyebrow twitch or shift in focus. The close-ups are so tight as to almost induce a sense of claustrophobia in the viewer, which ultimately increases the drama in what are in a lot of cases one-sided or one word conversations.

It is also interesting that the Drakkar are not a particularly winning team. They struggle through most of the season and the heartbreak of the players is obvious, particularly when they don't even manage to win the last game of the season. It is not often that you see that many teen aged boys all crying in the same room. We are also privy to last minute trades against the wishes of the player and painful surgery.

While ultimately a very quite film, but powerful enough to be recommended as essential viewing for anyone with children with ambitions of playing major league sports.

The film will also be airing on Radio-Canada on May 1st.

Resolution Reflections

I recently came across this article in the NY Times about how exercising willpower in one area of your life can in the short-term, negatively affect your ability to exercise it in other parts of your life, but in the long run will improve your willpower overall. While the article specifically references financial restraint with reference to the apparent economic meltdown happening south of the border, the results certainly apply to almost anything where willpower is involved.

Using my own recent New Years resolutions as an example, while eating apples and flossing regularly were initially the tasks I had the most success in completing regularly, my goal of blogging regularly fell sorely by the wayside. It wasn't until a couple of months later, once I was confident that eating healthy and flossing were a part of my regular routine was I able to start focusing on my blogging goals.

Sure, I'm not exercising as much as I was in January, but I'm also finding that I don't need to. Walking to and from work everyday is enough to maintain my goal weight and a pilates session once or twice a week tones everything else up to where I like it. The addition of long weekend walks and dancing lessons certainly means I get enough exercise to be considered "healthy", and I didn't even need to join a gym. I would still like to visit a yoga studio once a week, perhaps in lieu of my at-home pilates; as a way of multi-tasking on my goals for this year: stay fit & meet people.

This is certainly the best I've ever done at keeping new year's resolutions, but it is also the first time I have ever taken keeping resolutions so seriously. Obviously, moving across the country is a drastic way of rebooting your entire life, but I might as well take advantage of this opportunity, right?

Weekend Round-Up: Snow, Taxes and Dancing, Dancing, Dancing

Friday: All of my dreams of spring gardens and not so sensible footware were violently dashed by a mid-afternoon snowstorm. Tabarnak! Being that L. was also feeling a little drained we opted for our usual Friday night routine of burgers and fries at Nouveau System Hotdog Beaubien followed by some DVDs at Club Video Beaubien. I was starting to get a little impatient in my stupid high-heeled boots as L. agonized over picking the perfect combination of films. We finally settled on an eclectic combination of French indie-horror, Ils, Japanese coming of age comedy, Kamikaze Girls, and old school UK thinking man's gorefest, Hellraiser.

Since it was still rather early we opted to watch Kamikaze Girls first which L. enjoyed way more than he thought he would. I laughed myself stupid and managed to get weepy. Then it was on to Ils (Them), which was frankly a little disappointing, but still not bad considering it was obviously made for almost no money.

Saturday: The day started off with a bang as both Annie & Frank invited us out for breakfast. Being that Frank & Isabelle had to come in from the suburbs and wouldn't be around until close to noon, we opted to meet Annie & Mel at Coco Gallo again. It's really nice having so many good places to eat around us. We had our usual server, originally from New Brunswick who remembers me because we have the same French Immersion accent.

After a quick weekly grocery trip it was back home for taxes. Weeeee. After about 4 hours of struggling, it looks like we're getting a hefty chunk of money back, so that's good. And L. only starting hyperventilating once.

Just as we were finishing up the taxes, Frank and Isabelle showed up so we could go grab the dinner and then find somewhere to watch the game. We were hoping to watch it at our place, but Isabelle's deadly cat allergy meant she could only stay inside for about half an hour at a time, so that was no good. Instead, they took us to an excellent little Italian restaurant just a couple blocks from our place called Elios which we had been meaning to check out but just hadn't had an opportunity yet. The fresh pasta was tasty and prompt and L. and I opted to indulge in some homemade Italian style cheesecake to finish.

After dinner I headed back to the apartment to make some calls, shower and get ready to go out dancing with our friend Chris. L., Frank and Isabelle headed to Bar Chez Serge to watch the Canadiens game and I was supposed to meet up with them later, but the bar was packed so they left after the second period. Frank and Isabelle decided to call it a night and L. watched the end of the game while we waited for Chris, who was also watching the game.

A bit around 11 PM we met up with Chris and his friends at the Green Room, about a 10 minute walk from our house in Mile End. Being that the weather was still nice, I was marveling at how "Montreal" I've become in such a short time. I mean, look at my get-up:
I fit right in with the young and hip crowd, sort of. L. and I tried compared the venue to something in Vancouver but couldn't. First of all, the hipsters in Vancouver don't dance, at least not the ones I've met. And I can't think of a bar in Vancouver where no cover, DJs and $4 beer specials would mix. But I'll accept that I'm biased.

The music was an interesting mix of 80's Brit-pop, DEVO, Mash-Ups, 60's R&B, dance-punk and French electro. Not all of it was exceptionally danceable, but there were only a couple tunes that I really didn't enjoy. Chris and I meanwhile entertained ourselves by mocking the DJs with their twin hairdos, black-rimmed glasses and head bobbing.

Being that we're old, we called it a night around 1:30 PM and walked home.

Sunday: Despite saying that we could make breakfast at home, I woke-up craving a restaurant breakfast so we made our way towards Deli-Joe on our way to dance class. They were jam-packed so we instead headed up to Premiere Moison in the Marché Jean-Talon for fancy sandwiches. While it wasn't cheap ($15 for two for sandwiches, one soup and one salad), it sure was tasty and left us feeling much less gross than a greasy breakfast would have.

After lunch we hustled our way down to the Village for Salsa lessons. L. was stressing because we'd only been able to practice once last week, but I think we did okay. What was a bit of a problem was the new dance we learned in class: Bachata. I was doing pretty good, the basic steps are rather simple. It was the hip "thrust" that was giving L. some difficulty. I did my best not to laugh and the instructors were all very good at giving us some extra attention and telling L. to relax and just enjoy himself.

After dancing we popped in to Bureaux en Gros to pick-up some stuff to organize the office. While we were there we picked-up a paper shredder, but when I got it home it didn't work. Boo.

Later in the evening I went to Chris' place for a meeting to discuss plans to possibly help put on a movie night in the near future. Sadly, by the time I got there the meeting was over, but Chris filled me in on the details. Everything is still in the very early planning stages, but it's exciting to be involved with a group of people keen to get something going.

Being that I fell asleep on the metro on the way to Chris' I opted to skip the movie and headed back home where I promptly passed out.

French Slang Saturdays: Tanner & Tannant

Sorry it's a day late, but it's a two for one to make up for the tardiness.

Tanner [v]: Annoyed, fed-up. Implies a certain amount of resignment of the part of the speaker. Conjugated in the usual fashion.

Tannant [adj]: To be annoying.

Yet More Observations About My Job

So I've been at my current job almost three months, what would be considered the "probationary period" at most companies and the point at which your benefits finally kick in. But my benefits kicked in when I started, so I guess I'd better get my ass to a dentist...

I still enjoy my position quite a bit, even if the patently ridiculous nature of some of my tasks (I won't post them here, but they aren't that different from most office busy-work) and office politics have started to rear their ugly heads. My work is writing related and I do have to work my brain muscles on a fairly regular basis. Sure, there are days when my eyes glaze over, but I get paid to play video games and surf the net. Things could be so much worse.

Another thing that helps is my coworkers. They are all genuinely awesome, cool people. Because I work in translation, the majority of my colleagues are educated and not originally from Canada and as a result the cafeteria conversations are free of your standard observations of what Britney Spears did on the weekend. Recent topics include the German education system, the Brazilian economy and French politics. T

While I am a Canadian, I find that I relate to my foreign coworkers very well as I am still an outsider here in a lot of regards. I think they also find it interesting how different things can be on one side of the country versus another. here are also discussions on Quebec language laws, which my coworkers for the most part find unnecessary and bordering on fascist.

While the office itself is very quiet due to our reliance on MSN for office communications, everyone is warm and friendly. My department tends to stick together, but that suits me just fine. We also take turns bringing in baked goods when it is someone's birthday.

Movies I Watched Instead of Writing: Funny Games (2008)

Last night we went to see Michael Haneke's American remake of his own film: Funny Games. I had been avoiding Haneke for a long time, not sure if I would be able to stomach his reportedly brutal and downbeat style. But being that I had survived both Irreversible and A Hole In My Heart and actually enjoyed them-- at least on an intellectual level-- it seemed time to give Haneke a try.

While I usually prefer to go into a film blind, I opted to readKatrina Onstad's review on CBC.ca first as I generally respect her opinion and find her to be an excellent writer. For the most part I agree with what she says, although admittedly I have not seen the original and cannot compare them. But, a shot for shot remake ten years after the fact is a curious for your American directing debut.

In a way it makes perfect sense, as it is a rather didactic comment on the American appetite for glossy film violence, one that for the most part was overlooked by the intended audience because lord knows Americans can't be bothered to "read" their movies. And so it was relocated to the Hamptons and English speaking actors capable of convincing American accents were cast.

The film is full of harrowing and impressive acting, particularly Michael Pitt as the chief attacker. Naomi Watts and Tim Roth also turn in predictably strong and emotional performances as the set upon couple, and Devon Gearhart as their son shows talent beyond his years. But, middle-class coldness and the ineffectual American male have become cliches in the intervening years since the original film and act as barriers between the viewer and the characters. But this is likely by design.

However, the film is not simply an "examination of violence" as most critics dismissively have called it. In its construction and content, Funny Games is almost a joke on the audience, mean spirited to those not expecting it, and absurdist to those who are.

The biggest joke, of course, is that very little graphic violence is actually shown on screen. The most horrific violence is only implied with sound effects and careful framing. What he does show is the mundane, the meaningless details and rituals that we cling to even in times of crisis. In an age where studios greedily green light so called "Torture Porn", Haneke's remake is at once a comment on our appetite for violence and a cinematic scolding for our lack of intellectualism.

But to compare Funny Games with something like Saw is to sorely miss the point. The most graphic scene in the film is the one the audience is actually yearning for, not in a sadistic, voyeuristic way, but in a way that satisfies our cinema fed sense of justice. The small audience in the theater with us actually cheered at that scene, which seemed to be the reaction Haneke was going for, since the audience is chastised immediately following the scene with an audacious, almost comical, rupture of the four wall.

Self-reflectivity is introduced early on as a device in the film, with Michael Pitt speaking directly to the camera at numerous points, challenging the viewer to deny their complicitness in the proceedings. And while Haneke does make an interesting point about the role of the viewer, the message feel old and empty. And that is certainly part of the point too.

While pretension usually upsets me in a director, Haneke's cinematic lecture was more like a joke that he himself was in on. It is an intellectual exercise masquerading as a thriller. It wants you to be horrified and angry and upset, because those are the predictable, and in a way most comforting, reactions to the film. But dismissing something solely because it upsets us is both unfair and simplistic.

While the message of the film is far from fresh, Haneke's skill as a director cannot be denied. The specter of Hitchcock is clearly present in the careful framing of visual clues. Even the plot can be seen as an allusion to Rope, with its privileged boys who murder for sport. But while Hitchcock had Jimmy Stewart to dismiss the villain's intellectual arguments, Haneke does not rely on a "voice of reason". He wouldn't see the point.

In Defense of Long Duk Dong (sort of)

Because my workload can vary dramatically from one day to the next, I spend a lot of time surfing the internet, watching webisodes and obsessively refreshing my favourite blogs. Which is how I found this post on the NPR In Character blog about everyone's favourite Asian stereotype: Long Duk Dong from Sixteen Candles. The gist of the article is basically that Dong is a stereotype and Asian American men who attended school in the 80's were all at one time or another referred to as "the Donger".

As the child of a Japanese Canadian woman (Sansei for those who care) and a Caucasian father, I've been aware of the evils of racism and stereotyping since perhaps a little earlier than most people. Things like the Japanese Canadian internment during WWII formed my identity as a child. While the majority of my childhood was rooted in western culture (I never did learn how to speak more than a few words in Japanese), I was aware that not everyone had a Baachan instead of a Grandma, not everyone went to a Buddhist Church on Sundays and not everyone had stick straight black hair they couldn't do anything with.

And while I haven't had the same cultural experience as other Asian-Canadians, I usually identify as "Asian" because that is how others identify me first. And I take this to heart. I smile politely when people tell me I need to visit Japan, a country even my mother has never been to and has few ties with. And I take negative (or in most cases ridiculous) portrayals of Asians very personally.

And yet, I love, no... I LOVE, Long Duk Dong. I am not sure if this is a love worth defending, or if I should just characterize it as a guilty pleasure, but here I go anyways.

As kids, my sister and I grew up on John Hughes movies. My favourite was (predictably) The Breakfast Club. Her's was (also predictably) was Sixteen Candles. And even though we know better, to this day we giggle hysterically as we trade Dong-isms back and forth:

"You beat up my face".

"Sexy American Girrrlfriend!"

"Mehleed?"

But I think on some level it is because we know that these jokes belonged to us. None of our other friends are allowed to laugh at these jokes, lest they be branded a racist. Which is a shame, because they are really fucking funny. Not because they reinforce offensive stereotypes, although they do. They are funny because the actor delivering the lines is genuinely funny.

Sixteen Candles was Gedde Watanabe's second film role, and likely the first one to give him anything to do. While things have improved somewhat for Asian actors since the '80's, let's try to wrap our heads for one second around how hard it must have been for Watanabe to break into things in the first place. Obviously he read the script and understood what his role in the film was. He was comic relief. He was a stereotype. He was the "other". And he acts the fucking hell out of his role.

I guess this is one of the things that lets me not get completely offended by the Donger, as opposed to Mickey Rooney's portrayal of Mr. Yunioshi in Breakfast at Tiffany's-- at least the Donger was portrayed by an Asian person. It is more like we are laughing with someone, than at someone. Watanabe understands how outrageous his performance is, Mr. Rooney was relying on WWII stereotypes created to demonize Japanese people. Long Duk Dong is a comedic character who happens to be Asian. He could easily have come from England, or Kazhikstan, and while he would still a stereotype, it is the stereotype of "other", not simply a nasty embodiment of what white people think Asians are.

Granted, I was not an Asian male growing up in the '80's. I know I will never truly understand the complicated expectations that are heaped on Asian men, but I do have a hard time with this albatross of Asianess that so many of my Asian male friends carry around with them, the whole "Banana Boys" identity crisis thing. Maybe it is because I am not "completely" Asian. Maybe it is because I am an Asian female and therefor fetishized and desireable. But I take almost as much offense at this self martyrdom as I do the less savoury aspects of Long Duk Dong. As I pointed out to one Asian male friend while he moaned and wailed about how hard life is for Asian men and how white girls (or girls in general) weren't interested in Asian men: maybe female lack of interest comes from the fact that women are simply turned off by whining and moaning. Then again, I have never been called "The Donger" or been asked if I knew Kung Fu simply because of the colour of my skin (I do however regularly get asked if I eat a lot of sushi, especially now that I live in Quebec...)

That said, I am not trying to excuse Long Duk Dong all together. The accent is problematic and the whole dressing like a retarded person joke is offensive on multiple levels.

Focusing on what was positive about the character: depictions of Asian men on film have been traditionally non-sexual. There have been entire master thesis written about how Bruce Lee is the only guy in Enter the Dragon who doesn't go fool around with the girls. Arguably it was because Lee wanted to be portrayed as a spiritual, serious minded fighter. Fine. But that is only one in long line of examples. Dong, on the other hand, on his first night out, hooks up with a busty blond. Granted she is a "geek", not possessing the aesthetic qualities demanded by middle-American ideals of beauty, but she's exactly what Dong is looking for. She makes him happy. And the fact that they are both outsiders seems to solidify their relationship, and make them probably the most functional couple portrayed in the film, even if it is only for one night.

We Did It!

With news that temperatures in Montreal hit 12 degrees Celsius today, and that we'll be breaking 10 degrees again later this week, I think it is fair to officially declare our victory over winter. I didn't even have to wear long-johns this morning.

I was close to giving up hope, but given the sheer viciousness of the weather this year I think we survived our first Eastern Canadian winter pretty well.

Now we can look forward to building a vegetable garden, getting a BBQ, drinking sangria on patios, the Jazz Fest, Fantasia, visitors from Vancouver...

But first we'll need to clean up all the garbage that got trapped between the layers of now melting snow:
Eww.