Recent Stories with tag danny michel

Every time I visit Victoria BC, it's a different city. A different, yet still completely crazy city. A constantly evolving kind of crazy, so that I am never able to get my bearings, to feel comfortable or oriented, despite a mostly shared culture and language. I've felt more at home in Tokyo than I do in Victoria.

My last visit to Victoria was among the most depressing holidays of my life. We saw a show at a club that shall remain nameless to protect the pathetic, a Stygian hole featuring the musical stylings of the clinically depressed bartender, who sang about his part-time job working in a retirement home in a manner that was neither funny, nor plangent. It was the most horrifying exhibition of talentless narcissism I have ever had the misfortune to witness. I cringed on his behalf, even as I longed for him to slit his wrists on stage, in order to put us all out of his misery.

This visit was better, for the most part. I had a poutine of duck confit over truffle fries at The Office (the fries were tasty enough, but there was too much duck in the confit and the curds were more like half-melted cubes of bland mozzarella), and Hermann's Jazz Club, self-billed as "suitable for ladies without escorts," is a terrific venue.... (more)

My companion and I hit Courtenay, BC, around mid-day Thursday and Courtenay, much like the singer of similar name, hit back. I have to admit, I should have seen it coming.

On the ferry to Nanaimo, I got into the most cordial throw-down of all time with a lovely woman who was herself going to Courtenay. The woman asked to buy a cigarette from me. I offered her the cigarette free of charge. She insisted that she couldn't possibly. I protested that as I was not a licensed tobacco vendor, it would be illegal, as well as unethical, for me to accept her money...et cetera.

Eventually, my nameless new friend took the cigarette and kept her money, and I spent the next ten minutes hearing about her various offspring. Mixed in there somewhere was a brief mention of something called the Seniors Games. We parted on good terms, but I should have Googled "Seniors Games."

The BC Seniors Games are an annual competition in which members of the hip-replacement set come together to compete in events ranging from archery to Whist. (My ferry friend was competing in the Bridge tournament.) The games are held in a different location each year. This year, the silvered thousands descended on Courtenay for the weekend, vehicles circling downtown in a Miltonian search for free parking. Belligerent old men were knocking people over to get first into queue for restaurant tables (I have the bruises to prove it), and every hotel, motel, B&B, guesthouse, and RV park in the Comox/Campbell River Valley was reported to be booked solid.

So, of course, the B&B we'd booked (and confirmed twice) had been double-booked by the flaky reflexologist (is that redundant?) who owns the place, and the other couple had arrived first. Vera greeted us with a blank stare, followed quickly by horror, a rapid search for alternate accommodations, and the offer to pay for said accommodations. This time, I accepted an offer to pay without hesitation. I have no idea what our very nice room in a chain hotel ended up costing, nor do I particularly care. By the time we settled in, we were tired, cranky, stinky, hungry, and feeling very, very ugly-American, though trying hard not to show it.... (more)