ADDICTED TO NETFLIX--MY LIFE IN CAMELOT

When I was a kid in the 80’s, VCRs were all the rage, and thanks to my Dad’s interest in getting all the current technology he could get into our home, we were one of the first families amongst my friends to get a VCR.  Years later, we all graduated to DVDs and eventually said good-bye to the “video” stores. My, how times have changed. Here were are now at the age of video on demand—anything you want, anytime, anyplace (provided you have the hardware and technology to stream it in). So when Netflix arrived on the scene, it was a like a dream come true. A seemingly endless supply of movies and TV shows, all at your fingertips.


It all sounds fabulous, doesn’t it? And it is…until you are home sick for a week. This will be the beginning of a very mono-dependent relationship with Netflix that will bring out the addictive personality in you that you thought you never had.


Here’s what happened to me…


I am really not a TV kind of person—I like the occasional movie and a good TV show too, but I’ve got too many things on the go and plainly have no interest in watching other’s people’s success (I’d rather be building my own), especially when I hear about some of the current shows (what the hell is a Duck Dynasty anyway?). I’ve had my X-Box 360 Kinect (love exercising with it) for some time, and I kept seeing all the Netflix ads but paid no attention. Somewhere along the way, I decided to switch internet providers since I was getting screwed on my monthly bill—it doesn’t help when all you have is internet in a world of bundling—no home phone, no cable. Incidentally, Telus was offering a free 42’ LG Smart TV and a few other perks for switching, but the catch was you had to have basic cable on a three year contract (it’s now two). So, being the savvy financial planner I am, I did the math, and figured out that even with the contract, it all made good financial sense, and I got to ditch my 13 year old big-back TV. I ended up donating the TV to a charitable organization who collects furniture for mentally ill people who were homeless and who are now building their home again. It went to a wonderful 65 year old man who was thrilled with it—awesome!


Nothing radically changed for me at that point because I still wasn’t used to having a TV with cable, so it wasn’t my go-to thing when I was home. I did however, flip through the channels a few times and quickly discovered what absolute crap is on TV (such as the aforementioned program that doesn’t actually have ducks in it). Telus gave me a whack of free special channels to try out , and even though some of them were disappointing, I did manage to find my groove with a few, and coupled with the lovely PVR, well, I was on my way to entering into this decade.


So, got the new TV, the cable, the special channels, and the PVR—the only bridge not yet crossed was ordering Netflix. Since the new TV hooks directly into the internet, and, being the smart TV that it is, it made signing up for Netflix as easy as one click away. I took the plunge and voila, it was done—and unbeknownst to me, so was my life, for the foreseeable future anyway.


It was like a whole new world—so many movies, so many choices! I was in awe—what do I watch first? It made my DVD collection look like a joke—this was crazy—all wonderfully categorized too! Some of those great 80’s flicks were in there, along with current TV shows and movies that seemed to have just come out of the theatre. And so began my infatuation with Netflix.


It started with a movie here and there throughout the week—it was easy because I ordered Netflix at the beginning of spring and anyone who knows me, knows I am out and about outdoors when the weather is good (and even in the rain actually). When I did enter into my movie heaven, it was wonderful to find some of my interests were more than satiated. Loads of great documentaries that were very interesting and helpful when it came to physical/spiritual health, some beautiful films on nature and our planet, the classics, super cool thrillers, sci-fis and fantasy movies with knights and castles that took me to another time and dimension.


And then it happened…I was very ill this past Christmas through until New Years. Yes, six days at home—all day, all night. Granted, the first day I could barely open my eyes much less reach for the TV controller. But when those eyes were open, even though I was too ill to do anything constructive, I was still somehow able to focus incessantly on the journey I was about to embark on with Netflix.


Here’s what happens…someone suggests that you may like a particular TV series—in my case, it was Merlin. A show right up my alley, with knights, romance and adventure. Perfect. What someone didn’t tell me is that it had six seasons, and about twenty-two episodes per season. That’s a lot of TV. I started watching in between making hot drinks and blowing my nose. It is amazing how time can pass when you are fully engaged in a complete and utter fantasy, experienced through the power of Netflix. Poof! All of a sudden, it’s 2am and you’re rationalizing with yourself that it’s late and you really should go to bed, but you’re desperate to see what happens to Prince Arthur and Merlin in the next episode. Plus, you’re at home sick, so hey, what’s the big deal. Well, that’s great when you have no where to be but home. Does it screw up your sleep schedule and give you a skewed sense of time? Yes. Does watching back to back episodes of a TV show make you feel like you are now part of that show and that is your current reality? Yes. No joke, I was living in Camelot alright (sometimes I think I still do actually), dragons and all.


I realized my Netflix addiction was over the edge when I attempted to leave my home once I was well, and regain my normal life in the supposed real world. I was still two seasons away from completing the series, so what do you think I did every day after work and on weekends for the next two weeks? You guessed it, I went back to Camelot to see Merlin and the gang. Oh, just as a point of interest, if you don’t think that being a serial Netflix’er will enter into your dreams at night (when you do eventually get some sleep), think again. You will eat, breathe, and live the show you are watching AND you will have the most spectacular dreams you have ever had in your life. Maybe it’s because I picked a six-season TV show—I went hard-core.


When friends and family are starting to wonder where you are and what you have been doing over the course of the last two weeks, and you have been LYING to save the embarrassment of admitting to them that you’re hooked on a TV show and won’t stop until it’s finished, that’s when you know the addictive personality (which we all have to some degree—just ask my closet) has taken over. Don’t worry, my cats were fed and I was able to function in the real world most of the time.


Then the last episode came and I was a blithering mess. Thanks to “living” in the show, it was all too real and I had to count on the support of some of my friends who had been through the same experience of Merlin. Most of them watched it over the course of the six years when it was on air, like a normal person—unlike me, where I unnaturally crammed it all in within three weeks and was enduring the fallout as a result.


Fortunately, I was able to see what my Netflix addition had done to me—I could no longer live in Camelot (well, there was really no choice given I had watched it all). Slowly, I was able regain my life with the support of my interests and hobbies, and to begin a more healthy relationship with Netflix and the TV.  I called it mono-dependent earlier since it was I that needed Netflix—it didn’t need me.  As the days grew longer, memories of that time passed, spring arrived, and before I knew it, I had a golf club in my hands.


There is a whole real world out there beyond the TV—that’s where I want to be, out exploring for myself versus through someone else’s lens. Do I get pulled in occasionally for a movie once in awhile—absolutely—but I know my limits now. Is my PVR recording a couple of good shows from cable that I watch right away once recorded—of course! I am back to my own reality though, and couldn’t be happier. I have to go now—my cat Merlin and I are about to sit down for a show.

Give Me Some Elbow Room Please!

I recently had a good friend of mine from out of town come and stay with me for a few nights. He used to live in Vancouver, in fact, we went to elementary school together. In just a few short years, we will have know each other four decades—yikes! Naturally, when past Vancouverites come back here to play, they want to visit some of their old haunts in this gorgeous and somewhat unique city. David had a few requests of sights to see and places to go, but the one thing that was on his “must do” list was to have breakfast at The Elbow Room...and as soon as he said it, my face lit up.

It all started with two gentlemen (dare I say), Patrick Savoie and Brian Searle, who created a bustling little restaurant with delicious food at reasonable prices. About 13 years after they opened in 1983, they moved to their new location, on Davie St. between Seymour and Richards, with their loyal customer base in tow, still serving up delicious feasts for breakfast and lunch as they did 30 years ago. I hadn’t been there since the late 80‘s / early 90’s when it was will over on Jervis St. in the heritage building (it was the first mayor of Vancouver’s house incidentally), so I was all over the idea.

So why so much fuss over The Elbow Room? How is this restaurant any different than the rest, and, why would David absolutely NEED to go there? Let me tell you why: they are the only place where outside of having a fantastic meal, you will have the most fun getting some friendly abuse from your server AND you can give it back as well. The menu is peppered with clues that this is somewhat of a unique dining experience, and if you don’t get the clues, you’ll figure it out soon enough via the witty servers or with Patrick and Brian (just an FYI, Patrick is the bigger trouble-maker of the two).

My first experience was in the late 80’s when as soon as you walked through the door, you were told to find yourself a table, get your own coffee, and if you didn’t eat your ENTIRE plate of food, you had to make a donation to the charity they supported. Fair enough—I can manage finding a seat and coffee, but finishing a gigantic breakfast pancake that was the size of my wall clock at home was a little challenging. Yes, I did ante-up a little cash in the end, but all for a good cause. Besides, what’s a small donation when you can have a delish meal AND have all this amazing free entertainment? I also got a full-on mocking in front of the whole restaurant because I couldn’t finish my monstrosity of a pancake—naturally, they went with “What’s a matter, it’s too big for you?”. Yep. ‘Cause that’s how they roll.

Flash back to modern day, and David and I gleefully (meaning we may have skipped from the car to the restaurant) made our way into the restaurant that fateful Sunday morning. Being the popular place it is, you can expect you may have to wait a tad for a table, but we lucked out that morning. Immediately, we were engulfed with the hustle and bustle of the servers while taking in the ample nostalgia on the walls. The hostess was gracious, and happily seated us, letting us know our server would be along any moment. We sat down and all I remember saying to David was, “What the hell is this? How come she was so nice? Are we in the right place?”. So the server comes along (she was actually a really cool girl as is all the staff there), and she’s all pleasant and stuff, she takes our order then walks away…and my jaw is on the ground. I came here to be insulted g*d-damn it! And I am older now and I can dish it out WAY better than when I was in my 20’s!

Brian, one of the owners, was the person who brought us our food, which was to die for by the way—I had the French toast—huge and delicious.  He put our plates down with a smile and says he will bring me some syrup. David could see me seething—I just couldn’t take the niceties anymore, so when he came back, I said in a loud, stern tone, “Well it took you long enough old man”. He paused for a moment, and came right back at me basically telling me to stuff it, but in a more direct, non-PG kind of way. AH-HA! Finally, the restaurant I know and love! Well, it just went from there. Then the server got in on it, and others tables around us too—although, I may have inadvertently scared a few people who did not catch on to the gist of how this place works.

If you have not been yet, I would highly recommend a visit—it’s very addictive. You will have a great experience and support a local restaurant that will make you a wonderful meal at a good price, with plenty of friendly abuse thrown in for good measure, if you so please. The main reason they are tops in my book? For their long standing, generous support to A Loving Spoonful, and for truly believing that no one with AIDS should ever go hungry.

In the end, David and I had a blast while eating a fabulous breakfast (that I did finish this time but I still made a donation anyway), throwing around friendly insults and frightening other patrons—now that’s a breakfast!

http://www.theelbowroomcafe.com

From One Canuck to Many

I had the pleasure last night to be invited to the hockey game at Rogers Arena where our beloved Vancouver Canucks were hosting the Calgary Flames. Unless you’re a season ticket holder (or friends with one) or have access to a corporate box, the tickets aren’t so easy to come by unless you’re willing to pay the large price tag attached. I usually go to one game a year, and this was the one for 2014.

I’m a Vancouverite, and have been all my life, but most of all, I’m Canadian. And to be Canadian is to not only enjoy but to also be proud of our national sport--hockey. I believe that to be a globally accepted concept given we just won Olympic Gold for both the women’s and the men’s teams in the recent 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi.

So on a glorious, rainy evening after working a long day, I stepped out with my good friend Sheila to see the game. Rogers Arena is smack on the border of Yaletown and Downtown in Vancouver. Ah yes, Yaletown--an interesting part of the city and an area that I instantly become directionally challenged in as soon as I enter. Given the insane torrential downpour, we opted for the ridiculous $40 cash parking below the arena (parking is usually much cheaper around the stadium). Funny how when I went to the KISS concert it was only $25…whatever.

I decided to wear my Markus Naslund No. 19 jersey--yes, an original on-ice jersey that you could fit two of me in, but it doubles as a handy top and a coat all in one thanks to its sturdy polyester material (it’s like a little oven in there). I wasn’t alone in my attire--sure enough, as soon as you enter the seating level of the arena, it’s just a sea of chaotic blue. We were already late thanks to the traffic, so we had missed the anthem and the pre-game show, and arrived just 5 minutes into the first period. Sheila had amazing corporate seats--lower bowl, 5 rows up from behind the Calgary net--it was fabulous. It was certainly much easier walking down those stairs in my riding boots versus the 5 inch heels I had on to see KISS!

To be clear, I know enough about hockey to understand the language, the terms, the calls, and whether to jump for joy or shout in anger. I know the players, and which ones I like...based on my terms, such as how cute they are and if they can fight. Take Kevin Bieksa for example; an awesome defenseman, a great fighter, and one very good looking guy. He’s my favourite. Stats? Not sure, but whatever he’s doing, he’s doing a great job of it. I vote for a no-touch jersey-less exhibition game some day *sigh*.

So you noticed I mentioned fighting--now, that doesn’t mean that I’m a fan of violence, but sometimes on the ice there is just cause to make a statement and that statement can only be made through a good punch or two. Besides, the refs usually break it up fairly quickly anyway. I remember taking my friend Hedieh to a game once--it was her first time seeing a hockey game live. I was a little nervous because she had never really seen “that” side of me. We were having a nice, quiet, civil conversation, and all of a sudden one of our players was pulled down with no call against the other team and a fight broke out. Well, no sooner was I talking about afternoon tea when I was on my feet with the rest of the crowd shouting obscenities at the referees. I sat back down after a minute after almost losing my voice, to simply carry on my nice conversation in a much more calmer tone, as if nothing had happend, while Hedieh just looked at me horrified.

I always am interested to see who is sitting around me in my section--that can make or break a game as a spectator. This one time, I was in one of the sections in the upper bowl (it’s usually madness up there), and by the time the game was done, half of the people in the section has been removed--but boy, was it a good time.

Our section this time was pretty quiet--well, there was the guy with Tourette’s Syndrome a few rows down from us that had a lot to say.  I was impressed by the fact that no one gave him a hard time--it was nice to see given mental illness is not always so easily understood.  Then there were the two children (sans adults) sitting in front of us, so I felt I couldn’t be my usual “x-rated-non-child-friendly” self. Lastly, there was the fellow sitting right next to me (I found out later his name was David), who in the third period, was getting calls from his 8 year old daughter, TaylorAnn, trying to figure out where her Daddy was sitting in the arena. We did make it on camera (you could see it on the jumbo-tron), so I suggested he stand up and wave when they came down the ice and the camera panned in our direction. And sure enough, I could see Sheila and myself (I was all hair--hey, it was raining out), all thanks to David, who oddly was the only person in the section wearing a solid red sweater (mmm...kind of Calgary-ish if you ask me). I would like to personally thank David for being the crazed guy in the red waving madly for no reason (that’s how it looked to everyone else in the arena) because it helped my Mom find me too, which then allowed me to make a call to her to stop all her incoming calls, saying “Where are you? I can’t see you? Are you sure you’re there?”.

Watching the game in the arena versus at home is totally different--there’s no announcer giving a play-by-play. It kind of sucks in a way, but then hey, you’ve got those uniformed hockey players right there in front of you. I was surprised how many people there were not really watching the game but just having a lot of side conversations through the whole game. When there’s a break in the game between periods, they throw on some music and get people to do dance-offs or have the little tykes from Tim Horton’s Hockey on the ice to play their game (it was just too cute). Because I’m not the least bit shy, I usually do whatever I can to get on the jumbo-tron, but, thanks to kids directly in front of us and the heavy meal I ate before the game, I wasn’t in usual form. There was one Valentine’s Day where I was stood up by one of my guy friends who was supposed to go to the game with me, and I sat next to a couple who felt sorry for me and felt alchol would be of help. Well, eight Smirnoff Ice later, and you can better believe I got on camera. One thing that was really cool during this game, was an interview they did with a lady who was celebrating her 93rd birthday! The entire arena sang happy birthday to Violet--neat. Incidentally, she happened to be in our row, so we got to personally talk to her--she was amazing for 93!

As I mentioned at the beginning, this game was against Calgary--Vancouver’s arch-nemesis. I’ve been to few of the games against Calgary, and it was always enjoyable to get the section I was sitting in to sing anything loudly enough that made Miikka Kiprusoff (Calgary’s long-time famed goalie) get off his game. Well, Mr. Kiprusoff has since retired and has been replaced with a young fellow, Joni Ortio, who, even while I was in prime seating, was just too young and innocent looking to make fun of--no one wants to see a goalie cry. I did happen to find a second-favourite player...No. 29, Tom Sestito. There’s a nice 6’5” player who looked like he could bowl through anything, and hey, he’s cute too. His name is difficult to say and made me crave tortilla chips, but when said with a Spanish accent, it works quite nicely. 

There’s no question that all these men have talent, and watching them play is like watching a finely choreographed dance (most of the time). It is truly an experience being there, seeing it all happen, especially when they win (which they did that night, 2 to 1). I will add my two humanitarian cents by saying that it does sadden me that society places such a huge spotlight on this form of entertainment along with rather ridiculously large pay cheques. It’s tough when you think about how we don’t even pay our doctors who save people’s lives a fraction of what a professional sports person or actor/actress gets paid. Do I watch movies? Yes. Do I attend an occasional hockey game? Absolutely. So I suppose I could be called a hypocrite then, but it certainly is some food for thought. 

Perhaps it’s best to look at all the good that comes from the support we give our hockey team--the charitable organizations like Canuck Place, and all the support our Canuck players personally give to our children in need who are eternally grateful. Even the joy that Fin, our Canuck’s creepy orca-headed-man-mascot-guy (they should just give him a full orca suit already), brings to the kids--whether it’s in a hospital or in the arena.

Thank you, Vancouver Canucks, for the smiles and fun--your fans love you. Now win the f*cking Cup already please.