Okay. I’m back from Las Vegas. I’m trying not to be angry at the world. There I was. In Las Vegas. Now I’m in Winnipeg. And I have a cold. My head is stuffed up and I have a sore throat. And I endured two days of work like this. And… Oh, never mind.

I’ve realized there is no way I can catch up on a day to day remembrance of what happened. So I’ll try to do some blogs grouped around subject matter. Today’s theme is about the hotels I stayed at. There were two of them.

When we booked this trip, we had no idea of where to stay. The only thing I knew was that the Excalibur Casino had installed electronic poker tables in their poker room. So I decided we should stay there. We got online and paid for our rooms in advance.

When we arrived at McCarran Airport in Las Vegas, we decided to take the shuttle bus to the strip. It’s only $6.50 per person. It’s a good deal. The bus stopped first at the MGM Grand. Very impressive. They obviously tried very hard to make it feel like the kind of place a movie star from the Golden Age of movies would want. Next stop: The Excalibur.

I was so excited about getting there I didn’t focus on what the place is like. It’s like a tacky adult Disneyland. Once you’ve registered, they point the way to the towers where you’ll be staying. What surprised me is that they didn’t have their staff on hand to offer help with the bags. So we dragged our bags through the casino floor and eventually found our way to the elevators. When we opened the door to our room, we were pleasantly surprised. There was a lot of room and we had been upgraded to a widescreen TV.

The casino occupies the entire main floor of the hotel. I don’t play most of the games offered, Craps, Roulette, Blackjack, Keno, or slots, so I have little to say about those. And I’ll talk about the poker room in another post about my poker experience.

High-speed internet is available for $12.99 per day. There are WiFi hotspots at various places throughout  the hotel. I didn’t look for them so I can’t help you find them.

The location is a little weird. It’s right on the end of the Strip. Mandalay Bay and the Luxor are trying to extend the Strip farther south but all the real action is north of the Excalibur. Excalibur shares its corner with MGM Grand, NYNY, and the Tropicana. One of the shuttle bus drivers we had told us that there were over 14,000 hotel rooms at that corner, which he claimed was a world record.

Getting around Las Vegas isn’t a big problem. They have The Deuce, a double-decker bus, which runs the length of the Strip from downtown to the Outlet Mall in the south. It costs $2/trip or $5/day. It doesn’t go very fast so tourists don’t get lost or confused. It’s a great value for those who don’t want to walk a lot.

When we tried to leave Las Vegas, Las Vegas wouldn’t let us. It snowed. At first just a few little flakes. And our plane was sitting there with a mechanical problem. And more snow. Eventually the airport was shut down because nobody in Las Vegas understands snow removal. So we had to get a hotel room for what turned out to be two extra nights. There was no way I was going back to the Excalibur. I phoned Planet Hollywood and got us a room.

I called Planet Hollywood because I had shifted my poker playing to their room. I liked the action there and I definitely enjoyed the ambience. You arrive at the lobby arrive and you don’t hear all the irritating noise of the casino. Instead, you hear music loud enough that you wonder how the staff can get their work done. We quickly check in and go to our room. This is more like it.

The room was a little smaller than the Excalibur’s. But, for comfort, there was a duvet instead of blankets. There was a long, deep tub for those who like that sort of thing. There was John Belushi memorabilia in our room; clothing, props and posters. Internet access was $13.99/day.

Overall, the Excalibur was a less expensive to stay in but not centrally located, and a bit too much on the tacky side for my taste. Planet Hollywood was just a little more money but much nicer in appearance, more upscale in clientele, and close to the Bellagio and Caesar’s. I definitely recommend Planet Hollywood.

Okay. Apologies are in order. I had promised that I would keep everybody up to date about my time in Vegas. Here is what I’ve discovered. After spending all day winning money and then spending it, there wasn’t much time or energy for regular posts.

Here is the short form. We’ve gone for dinner at the Excalibur buffet (sucked big time), the Planet Hollywood buffet, and at The House of Blues. Two out of three ain’t bad. We’ll be going to the Bellagio for dinner tonight. We went to see Phantom on Friday (great) and will be going to see Cirque du Soleil – Ka tomorrow. I’m fighting a losing battle trying to win more money than Marilyn can spend. And I’m up over $800 so far. The Planet Hollywood poker room has been very good to me.

I’ll try to flesh this out more when I get back home. Remember, it’s a great day to be alive.

Many of you realize that I’m a night owl. My normal bedtime is around 2AM. That’s my normal routine and has been most of my life. So it came as quite a shock when I had to get up at 5AM Wednesday morning to go to Toronto.

What’s that? You thought I was going to Vegas? Well, yes. I was going to Vegas. But Air Canada, in its wisdom, thought it was important to fill up the flight from Toronto to Vegas. So when Marilyn, my darling wife, booked this trip, that was the deal they offered. We got a great price on the airfare but a lousy itinerary.

So we flew from Winnipeg to Toronto to Las Vegas. We got here about 5PM. Got to the hotel. I didn’t sleep much on the plane. We were both tired, and being an old guy, I had a nap. In Vegas. I flew over 7 hours to get to Vegas so I could have a nap. How sick is that?

We woke up a little later and discovered we were hungry. We decided to check out the 2 for 1 buffet at the Excalibur. That made it only $19 for the two of us. We had to wait 45 minutes in the queue. I was quite ready to eat by then.

Back in September, I had posted a thread in a poker forum about my upcoming trip to Vegas. I asked for advice about which rooms to play in, where to go, where to eat. Nobody mentioned the Excalibur as a great place to eat. Wednesday night I discovered why. There isn’t much good to say about it. The food wasn’t very tasty. The meat was tough since it had been sitting under heat lamps for hours. The dessert, Peach Cobbler in my case, did taste like peaches but it had a glue-like consistency. My conclusion, skip the Excalibur buffet.

Marilyn decided that an early night was called for. That meant I was free to play poker. But I too was tired. I know I don’t play my best poker when I’m tired. In fact, I may play my worst poker when I’m tired. I don’t think. I just throw chips around, hoping that my cards are good enough. When I run out of chips I stop. I didn’t want my first night in Vegas to be that story so I skipped to the end. I stayed in my room. I watched a movie. I read a little. When I got really tired, I went to bed.

So that’s the story of my travel day. A long time in the air, blah food, old people needing naps. Check back here soon. The next exciting installment, Vegas – Day One will show up in a few hours.

Well, I made it. I wasn’t sure I would, but I did. My wife booked this trip to Vegas to protect what was left of my fragile sanity. She was hoping that by giving me something to look forward to, I might not quit my job. It worked. I made it. But today I realized something. I like a lot of the people I work with.

Today I was surprised by the many good wishes I received from my friends. I looked at this group of strange people and discovered I was going to miss them.

Tomorrow I will be heading to Las Vegas. My friends have all heard my outrageous dream of how I might stay in Vegas forever. All I have to do is win about $500 per day. Every day. For a week. Then I’ll use my personal days to book off another week. If I do it again, then I’ll stay another week with the 5 undocumented absences I’m allowed. Then, if I am still profitable, I’m into the new year and I have 6 more personal days to use. If, after all this time, I’m still winning, I’m staying in Vegas forever.

So that’s it. That’s all it will take. $500 per day for 4 weeks. And all these crazy people I work with can come visit me in the sunshine. Wish me luck.

I like good movies. There isn’t anything particularly great about that. I don’t think people like bad movies. That goes with why they’re called bad. Bad movies are the movies that nobody likes, right? As it turns out, the answer is not that simple.

I participate in a writing forum. Somebody once started a thread asking for a response to this question: What is the worst movie you’ve ever seen? The responses were quite varied. The surprising thing was that even among people who are trying to become screenwriters, there was little agreement. Oh, there were some opinions that were just about universal, but not all were.

I had two nominees for worst picture. The first was a movie called Rhinestone (1984). Dolly Parton plays a country and western singer who makes a bet with her manager in order to get out of her contract. She agrees to turn anyone he picks into a country singer. If she can, she’s out of the contract. If she loses, she’s locked in for a longer period. The manager picks New York cab driver, Sylvester Stallone. I watched that movie and immediately said “That was a waste of 90 minutes of my life.” It was actually 110 minutes. I guess my brain shut down in self defense.

The second choice was Revolution (1985). Set during the American Revolution, Al Pacino plays a man who wants to stay out of the conflict. He expresses it clearly, in a modern Brooklyn accent, “It’s not my waaaaarrr!” With Donald Sutherland playing a boy buggering British general, it didn’t get better. It was further ruined by having Nastassja Kinski as the female lead.

Anyway, back to the forum question. Here’s a list of the nominees:
The Labyrinth
Aeon Flux
Ballistic: Ecks vs Sever
Boy and Girls
Christmas With the Kranks
Exorcist: The Beginning
The Fog
Jeepers Creepers 2
The Last Horror Movie
Resident Evil Apocalypse
The Ring 2
Stealth
XXX 2
Screwed
Pink Flamingos
You Light Up My Life
The Royal Tenenbaums
Anything with Ben Stiller or Owen Wilson
Attack of the Killer Tomatoes
Alone in the Dark
Alien vs. Predator
The Blair Witch Project
Anything by Woody Allen (seconded by my wife)
Mortal Kombat
First 3 episodes of Star Wars
Costner’s Waterworld or The Postman
Plan 9 From Outer Space
The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou

This isn’t close to a complete list. So here is my challenge. Tell me what you’re choice is for the worst movie of all time. If you can, include your reasons. There is obviously no correct choice. I’d just like to hear what your thoughts are. Until next time, it’s a great day to be alive!

Many years ago, while attending University, a friend was telling me about this fantastic professor he had. This professor taught history in such an engaging fashion that it suddenly seemed relevant. My friend insisted that I attend a lecture and hear this master teacher myself. After receiving assurances that the professor wouldn’t mind, and indeed probably wouldn’t notice, I agreed.

It didn’t take too much cajoling. I’ve always enjoyed history. Not in an organized way, but in the travelogue way. I had enjoyed reading about ancient Egypt, Greece and Rome. I’d wondered what it would be like to have lived then. While in junior high I had considered studying archaeology.

George Santayana, a Spanish-American philosopher gave us this phrase: Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. He was trying to tell people that knowledge of the past is necessary for progress to be achieved. Without knowledge of the past to anchor you, all future change is just as likely to be harmful as beneficial.

So I attended this history lecture. The professor chose to discuss the period of the American Revolution. But he did it in a strange way. He began by asking us to come up with words that are used to describe Americans. At this point in the story, I have to remind people that this took place in Canada. The words, to the best of my recollection, were: Yankee, pushy, loud, can-do, aggressive, argumentative, etc. You get the idea. Then he asked for words about Canadians. We got: conciliatory, peace-keepers, status quo, quiet, negotiators. You can see the trend.

He then asked us to consider the historical period in question. In America at the time, there were two large, powerful and opposing groups. There were the revolutionaries. They wanted change. They were done negotiating with King George and Britain. They weren’t going to pay a tax just because the government said they should. They were going to do something about it. The other group was the Loyalists. They felt that the correct path was to discuss things in a rational manner. There was no reason to upset the whole apple cart over a small tax. Respect for authority was highly valued. Things eventually came to a head. The Loyalists had to choose to fight or leave. They would either have to fight beside their neighbors against their rightful King or fight against their neighbors for their rightful King. Or they could leave. And that is what many of them did. They moved north into what later became known as Canada.

This professor saw the seeds of our present day lives deeply rooted in our cultural past. There is a momentum that carries us along, day by day. Each day influenced by the one before it, and the one before that. Our biases, our assumptions, are often handed to us by the people around us. We got them from the people before us. You don’t think so? Consider this: In 1835, a Halifax, Nova Scotia newspaper created a character for a regular feature. He was Sam Slick, the Yankee clockmaker. This character was a plain speaking man who would poke fun at people on both sides of the border. But he would also encourage the old-fashioned Canadians to be as hard working and clever as the Yankees. Just 60 years after the American Revolution, the differences were evident.

More than 30 years have passed since that lecture but it lingers in my mind. It shapes how I think about politics and world events. That man changed my life and neither of us knew it at the time. His name? I don’t remember.

Every now and then, someone really surprises you. Mark Herman, the director and screenwriter of The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas is that person. There is nothing in Herman’s resume which would make you believe that he was ready for this film. He is a hyphenated person; a writer-director. He made a couple of short films about 20 years ago. He delivered a couple of forgettable films after that. Then he gave us a couple of competent but lightweight films. The last one of those was five years ago. Then he disappeared and wrote this amazing adaptation of John Boyne’s novel.

Bruno, played by Asa Butterfield, is the 8-year-old son of a high ranking German officer during the Second World War. His father, played by David Thewlis, is given an assignment which causes them to move from Berlin to a place out in the country. This new command is a Jewish concentration camp. Of course, little Bruno doesn’t know this. He thinks it’s a farm where all the people wear striped pyjamas. His mother, played by Vera Farmiga, doesn’t want the adventurous boy to discover the “farm” and so she insists he stay in the front yard. Soon bored due to an absence of friends, he sets out to explore. He chances upon the camp and finds a Jewish boy on the other side of the fence who is hiding from the work detail. The rest of the film involves the tension of these two young people trying to come to grips with their world. The adults, too, suffer for the choices made. The lies they tell themselves and their children begin to affect them as well.

I waited for a day before writing this review because I wanted to see which images stuck with me. To the films credit, there are several and they are located throughout the film. I especially enjoyed the way we are prepared for things in advance without it being heavy handed or giving the game away. Symbolism used in the film is appropriate for the scene. The two boys shake hands through an electric fence. They know that the fence is dangerous. We, the audience, know that the handshake is dangerous.

The film ends on a haunting image. I won’t give the ending away because I truly want you to see it with fresh eyes. This is the best and most moving film I’ve seen in a while. Enjoy it. I did.

My rating: 8 out of 10

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Quantum of Solace, the unfortunately titled latest instalment in the James Bond franchise, lived up to its title. It is confusing and short of meaning. I’m not just talking about the fact that it’s the first true sequel in the 007 library. Yes, it helped if you’ve seen Casino Royale. But when the writers tell you they have no idea what the title means, you get the idea that something is wrong. So let’s start with the writers.

Neal Purvis & Robert Wade have got writing credits on the last two Pierce Brosnan 007 flicks as well as Daniel Craig’s 007 debut in Casino Royale. Obviously, they understand the format. Paul Haggis, had cowriting credit on Casino Royale as well. For Quantum of Solace, Paul Haggis got top writing credit. Under the rules for writing credit, it looks like Haggis is being credited with improving a less than stellar first attempt by Purvis and Wade. Canadian born Paul Haggis, writer of best picture Oscar winners Million Dollar Baby and Crash, is obviously being given the chance to stretch into the action genre.

The director, Marc Forster, on the other hand, has had almost no previous experience with a major action film like this. He has made some very fine films in the past, but nothing like  a James Bond movie. He helmed the critically acclaimed Monster’s Ball, then directed Johnny Depp in Finding Neverland. Stranger Than Fiction came along in 2006, followed by The Kite Runner in 2007. He is clearly comfortable with these character driven films. This is one of the things that makes Quantum of Solace so confusing.

Quantum of Solace comes in at only 106 minutes. This is about 10-15 minutes shorter than most Bond films. I find myself wondering what went wrong. Was the script just so bad that they hacked a huge portion out of it? There is zero attempt to explain the title to the audience. Why not develop the character of James Bond a little? How bad was the script before Paul Haggis was brought in to fix it? People who have faithfully followed the Bond films throughout the years have come to expect certain things. And we miss them when they aren’t there. We wonder where Q and Moneypenny are.  Maybe they’re in the missing 15 pages of script. And James Bond is supposed to say “Bond, James Bond” at least once in the movie. Really, would it have hurt to give the audience what it wants?

With the absence of Q, there is less emphasis on the gadgets. They are replaced by the almost superhuman athleticism of the current Bond. He can bounce from floor to floor in burning, exploding buildings without missing a step. This brings me to my pet peeve. James Bond never limps. He is punched, kicked, cut, dropped, pushed, jumps from balcony to bus and comes out of all this with little blood and no visible discomfort. Seriously? Come on. At least Jason Bourne limps when he gets hurt. And bleeds all over the place when cut or shot.

I’m not even going to talk about the hydrogen powered building that blows up. Ooops. I just did. This was such a bad decision. Some people just don’t understand science, I guess.

There was one scene sequence I really enjoyed. The shootout at the opera house is worth watching. When it shows up, just soak it in. For me, it was the high point of the entire film. I’m sure the director didn’t want that, but who cares what he wants anyway?

Daniel Craig deserves better than this. He brings more energy to the role than any Bond before him. When Timothy Dalton replaced Roger Moore, they tried to move the Bond character in this direction but it was too great a change. We then got the gadget-heavy Bond back for a while in Brosnan. Craig is a good enough actor to communicate the contradictions that exist in a man who kills ruthlessly for a living but saves the picture of the woman who betrayed him. He can comfort a dying friend and then dump his body in the trash.

The Bond Girl, Olga Kurylenko, continues the tradition of having stunningly beautiful women who can shoot guns and kick ass. The nice change, from a storytelling point of view, was that she didn’t sleep with Bond in the film. They also avoided the last cliché in every James Bond film, the film ending with Bond and Bond Girl having sex as a reward for a job well done. Then they moved the gunshot image we expect at the top of every Bond film to the end. They are obviously doing everything in their power to turn Bond upside down.

It’s not a great film. It’s not even great James Bond. There is no science to my ratings. It’s just a gut reaction. I wavered between 5 and 6 out of 10. I finally settled on 5.

A friend at work made an interesting comment the other day. We had been talking about our jobs. We agreed that the pay wasn’t bad. We don’t work outdoors. But management is so bad that the job is almost intolerable some days. We both agreed that another job would be attractive. This is where the comment came in.

“The job is bad enough that people want to leave. The pay is good enough that people won’t leave for just any job. Most of us who want to leave are planning to make steps up in some way.” This is an almost close paraphrase of what was said. I’m old so my memory is suspect.

I was struck by the insight. It’s not obvious. I’ve seen people in other jobs that would blow the job off without a new one waiting just because the boss was having a bad day. If the employees where I worked did that, the place would be empty in a week. So they wait, and work, and plan, and prepare, and then they leave.

So, since some of you know about my interest in film and writing, I’m announcing my plan to start a new film production company. I’ve realized that I know several talented people who also want to make their lives better, or more challenging, or more fulfilling. Or maybe they’re just crazy.

We’re going to start with a couple of short films I’ve written. We’ll learn some lessons as we go along. We’ll make mistakes. The one thing we will be doing right is trying. Trying to grow. Trying to achieve. Trying to do something that we haven’t done before.

I know people who are looking for an opportunity to direct films. I know people who want to act. I want to write. None of us are going to get a serious look from the film establishment, so we’ll make our own opportunity.

The short films will be entered in film festivals. We will get credit for the work. I have another, longer, short film to develop. There is a television idea to develop. I have several screenplay ideas to work on. And that’s just me. I had a coffee meeting with someone the other day. He read one of my shorts. Then he shot off some ideas for the filming and editing that hadn’t occurred to me. They’ll make it better. The synergy of more minds, more talent, will make everything better. It’s kind of exciting.

I call it street theatre. And in the best tradition of street theatre, you’re never really sure what you’re going to see. The noise, the pop, the fizz; all the action you hear outside your apartment window at various times of the day or night.

Sometimes it’s a romantic comedy. Two lovers sway down the street arm in arm. They interrupt their journey and have a loud argument (right under my window) before continuing to stagger their unsteady way home.

Sometimes it’s the Home Shopping Channel where various people have a rich assortment of things to sell me.

Other times it’s a little more pornographic as the ladies of negotiable affection seem to hover around my home. My wife suggests that business must be good here, then sends me a searching look.

Or it’s a police drama as yellow tape stretches across sidewalks and streets. The police do their job after some thug did theirs.

A friend dropped me off one day. We chatted a moment before I left. This gave two young ladies time to wander over. They seemed very friendly and obviously wanted to get to know us better. An older gentleman, not wanting to be left out, decided to wander over. Judging by his clothing, he may have been a veteran from the War of 1812. Or maybe something earlier. He let us know that if we were giving away money, he would like some too.

I’m a little embarrassed to admit that occasionally I’m uncomfortable with some of the people I see. The other day three large men (and I’m not tiny) were lounging around my bus stop. I briefly considered going to another stop but my bus was coming soon and didn’t want to miss it. So I waited on the wrong side of the street. My bus arrived. I ran across and all four of us got on. Silly me. They were very friendly. I was surrounded as they told me stories and adventures. I’m sure they would have shared whatever they’d been drinking but they’d already run out. So they shared the fumes with me and I got a little tipsy just sitting there.

Then there’s the local mime artist. I don’t want to hurt his feelings but he’s only good at one thing. He stands on the corner and looks. I’ve never heard him talk, that’s why I’m sure he’s a mime. Just looks. He never does “Trapped in a Box” or “The Locked Door” or “Climbing the Invisible Ladder”. Just looks. I can’t figure out what he’s supposed to be looking for. But what do I know? I guess I just don’t understand mime.

We have magicians, too. They make stereos and TVs disappear. Some of them must be really good because recently a whole 7-11 vanished.

I’ve been trying to figure out what my part in The Sargent Avenue Street Theatre is. I’m pretty sure I’m not the drug-addled philosopher who talks to himself because no one else understands what he’s thinking. I think I might be the down-on-his-luck snob who frequents the local restaurants and fancies himself a connoisseur. So, if you ever want to see me, I’m the guy sitting in Thanh Huong. I’ll be trying to drink my Vietnamese Coffee with my nose in the air while eating a Salad Roll with my pinkie at an awkward angle. It’s difficult maneuver that never fails to inspire oohs, ahhs and applause. You can’t miss me. I’m over here. No. Over here. sigh

First published in West Central Streets, Jan/Feb 2007