So
If you'd have asked me this morning if I thought I'd be stopping in a gay bar sometime today, I'd have probably said, "No."
Let me explain a little.
Let's back up to this morning, when I was at the hotel, packing up all my things to go to my apartment. Cat was in the crate, dirty clothes in a couple of plastic bags (I felt a little like a homeless guy), suitcase and backpack (ahem, "knapsack") all ready to go.
I'd called down for some additional plastic bags to put trash and cat litter and other things in, and when Ivan's cleaning lady friend heard we were checking out, she brought the bags up to me herself. He heard her from all the way down the hall and got all excited. I didn't know what all the commotion was about until she explained that she's the one who's been cleaning the room for the last several weeks because "the other lady and the cat don't get along so good. I love him though, so I agree to do this room instead. Cat hears my voice out the door, and I hear him jump up, and when I'm here, he rolls around and is happy." It was good to know that he had a friend during the day while I was out.
I went down to the desk and checked out, and then took a bellboy guy back up with me to help load the bags on a cart.
When the doorman called a cab for me a few minutes later, I thought he was going to cry. I'd always said good morning and good evening to him, because he's a really friendly African guy, and his accent makes me smile. He said they were going to miss me, and asked if I would come back to visit my friends who were still staying there. (Incidentally, this has nothing to do with the gay bar, in case you were wondering. Keep listening.)
Anyway, a short $6 cab ride later, I was at the front door of my new building, and managed to leapfrog all my bags into the apartment (one after another into the lobby, then into the elevator, then out of the elevator, then down the hall and in the door). Ivan was cautious at first, but within about 20 minutes had probably traversed the wooden stairs here about a dozen times. When he found the hardwood floor upstairs, he rolled around on it like crazy — I think he misses the wooden floor from our last home.
Next was bare necessities time. I walked down the street to Future Shop (the coolest electronics store ever, at least in Canada) and bought a cheap cordless phone, some speakers (the lack of tunes without using headphones was really getting to me, and by today I couldn't wait for my good computer speakers to get here any longer — I bought some fairly inexpensive Altec Lansings intending to take them back after a few days when my other speakers get here, but was surprised at how outstanding they sound, roughly comparable to my speakers that have the sub module, so now I'm trying to come up with excuses to keep them), and an extension cord. I ate a quick tasty lunch at India Gate (actually that was before Future Shop, but I didn't feel like rewriting the last sentence), and then went by the Telus store to ask about my DSL. The guy there looked me up and said my DSL was active as of yesterday, and he went ahead and gave me equipment, telling me to just refuse shipment whenever the other stuff ever gets here. Pretty cool I thought.
Starting with Future Shop, I started asking people where a good cheap place is to get a haircut in the neighborhood. The Future Shop girl said, "I'm from Surrey, so I don't know the neighborhood so well. I'm sorry." The Telus store guy said, "I live in Surrey, so I don't know this neighborhood so well." At this point I'm thinking who doesn't fucking live in Surrey around here? But then the Telus guy added, "Ask the 7-11 guy. He knows everything." (This is related somewhat to the gay bar part, so pay attention.)
With bags of electronic goodies and DSL modem in hand, I started toward the 7-11 of Infinite Wisdom, until I noticed a place right across the street with a sign that read Waverly Barber Shop. That looked like my suspect. I crossed the street (at the crosswalk of course — jaywalking around here is a sin worse than not recycling your newspapers) and went inside. When I asked the friendly looking Korean woman how much for a men's haircut, she smiled and nodded her head a lot, and pointed at a clipboard that appeared out of nowhere, the line near her finger reading "Men's Haircut $15". Sounded like a deal to me.
She eagerly took my bags from me, helped me off with my jacket, and set to work. I was a little nervous, because 1) she spoke almost no English at all, so I had no idea whether she understood what I wanted (I was having Beijing haircut flashbacks, but at least there I knew enough Chinese to be able to hash it out — the only things I know in Korean are "hello", "thanks", and "barley tea", none of which would guarantee a decent hairstyle) and 2) her clipper-wielding style immediately struck me as notably unconventional. However, when things progressed from a very fastidious cleaning up any uneven spots to a straight razor neck shave, and then an eyebrow trim, I thought, wow, okay, this is pretty good stuff for $15. (Incidentally, all this time I couldn't help noticing that the little placard with all the hair dye samples on it in this case included loops of hair that were blue, orange, pink, green, and four shades of purple — I wasn't sure what to think of all that). I was so pleased with the final result that I just gave her a $20 and told her to keep the rest, and she was so ecstatic she told me to come back again a lot, and gave me a discount card ("Eight time, get free haircut!") and a free pen and a business card ("My name Ann. See here. What you name? How spell?"). I think I have a new haircut friend.
I took my new Korean haircut back to the apartment, found Ivan asleep on the stairs with his legs hanging off both sides (they're the open-on-the-back kind of steps), hung around the apartment a bit, and then ran down to the grocery store across the street. My grocery shopping experience was pretty good, though I found out there's no such thing as pimiento cheese here, which is kind of disappointing, because I was looking for foods which required the least amount of cookware to prepare and tableware to serve (seeing as how I have almost none of either. On the other hand, there was lots of other good stuff to be had. With a few uninteresting exceptions, my grocery trip included the following: wheat "brown" bread, canned tuna, canned salmon, mayonnaise, a bottle of milk, grapefruit juice (at least they have my favorite grapefruit + tangerine juice here), frozen macaroni, frozen pizza, nutella, cappuccino Nescafe (no coffee maker yet), instant soup, honey, V8 juice, granola cereal, a package of two Crazy Rags, some plastic container bowls, and a coffee mug. I also decided there's something inherently wrong with the phrase "Fajitas aux Poulet." Maybe it's just me.
After getting back home and getting settled, I suddenly found myself in the mood for some wine. Upon some thought, I realized that every apartment I've moved into or out of in the past many years has been christened by the drinking of a bottle of wine, so suddenly it became a traditional imperative. The problem was that I don't know a wine store in this neighborhood yet, though. Suddenly remembering the words of the Telus guy, however, I thought, "I'll ask the convenience store guy — he knows everything."
So I went downstairs and ducked into the convenience store. The guy recognized me from when I'd run down there for an emergency toilet paper journey earlier today (these things happen, okay?). I asked where I could buy a bottle of wine around here. "Go to the Dufferin Pub at the end of the street," he answered. "Great, thanks," I said.
I walked to the end of the block and crossed the street. I stepped into the Dufferin pub.
A rather jovial looking guy immediately inside was in the process of hanging beer signs, and looked at me and said, "Pints, $6.99, eh?" I glanced around and saw another sign which read, "Dufferin Pub, serving Vancouver's gay community since 1978." Indeed, upon looking around, there were several pairs of guys on the dance floor that were really getting their groove on. It was really cute, actually, in a gay sort of way. "Where can I get wine to go?" I asked. "Oh, go back outside, and around the side, and come in the back door, under the blue awning."
So I did. Coming in the back door, I was surprised to find that I was still in the same bar, just a different entrance. (I'd expected a different place altogether, and would have just walked through it if I'd known it was all connected, rather than go back out in the cold.) Anyway, I selected a bottle of dry red wine (nearly everything they had was Canadian, so I sort of had to settle), paid the bartender guy his $12, and started back home.
Immediately out on the street, a shady looking guy saw me with my little brown paper bag, and said, "Hey man, you want some rock?" I glared at him. "No offense man. What about some BC Bud?" I was actually a little tempted on that one, but decided just to head back home with my wine and keep it to that.
Gay bar. Crack dealer. All in one night. Crazy.
Anyway, that's the story. Once I got back here I drank my wine and talked to friends online figured out how to get iTunes to upload individual songs to the iPod, and made the frightening discovery of "We're sorry. iTunes Store is currently not yet available in your country." (Much suck). I've discovered that after having much of it in China that I've rather developed a taste for Nescafe in spite of myself. And I made some frozen macaroni in my oven. And played with the cat. And now it's about time to go to bed.
Let me explain a little.
Let's back up to this morning, when I was at the hotel, packing up all my things to go to my apartment. Cat was in the crate, dirty clothes in a couple of plastic bags (I felt a little like a homeless guy), suitcase and backpack (ahem, "knapsack") all ready to go.
I'd called down for some additional plastic bags to put trash and cat litter and other things in, and when Ivan's cleaning lady friend heard we were checking out, she brought the bags up to me herself. He heard her from all the way down the hall and got all excited. I didn't know what all the commotion was about until she explained that she's the one who's been cleaning the room for the last several weeks because "the other lady and the cat don't get along so good. I love him though, so I agree to do this room instead. Cat hears my voice out the door, and I hear him jump up, and when I'm here, he rolls around and is happy." It was good to know that he had a friend during the day while I was out.
I went down to the desk and checked out, and then took a bellboy guy back up with me to help load the bags on a cart.
When the doorman called a cab for me a few minutes later, I thought he was going to cry. I'd always said good morning and good evening to him, because he's a really friendly African guy, and his accent makes me smile. He said they were going to miss me, and asked if I would come back to visit my friends who were still staying there. (Incidentally, this has nothing to do with the gay bar, in case you were wondering. Keep listening.)
Anyway, a short $6 cab ride later, I was at the front door of my new building, and managed to leapfrog all my bags into the apartment (one after another into the lobby, then into the elevator, then out of the elevator, then down the hall and in the door). Ivan was cautious at first, but within about 20 minutes had probably traversed the wooden stairs here about a dozen times. When he found the hardwood floor upstairs, he rolled around on it like crazy — I think he misses the wooden floor from our last home.
Next was bare necessities time. I walked down the street to Future Shop (the coolest electronics store ever, at least in Canada) and bought a cheap cordless phone, some speakers (the lack of tunes without using headphones was really getting to me, and by today I couldn't wait for my good computer speakers to get here any longer — I bought some fairly inexpensive Altec Lansings intending to take them back after a few days when my other speakers get here, but was surprised at how outstanding they sound, roughly comparable to my speakers that have the sub module, so now I'm trying to come up with excuses to keep them), and an extension cord. I ate a quick tasty lunch at India Gate (actually that was before Future Shop, but I didn't feel like rewriting the last sentence), and then went by the Telus store to ask about my DSL. The guy there looked me up and said my DSL was active as of yesterday, and he went ahead and gave me equipment, telling me to just refuse shipment whenever the other stuff ever gets here. Pretty cool I thought.
Starting with Future Shop, I started asking people where a good cheap place is to get a haircut in the neighborhood. The Future Shop girl said, "I'm from Surrey, so I don't know the neighborhood so well. I'm sorry." The Telus store guy said, "I live in Surrey, so I don't know this neighborhood so well." At this point I'm thinking who doesn't fucking live in Surrey around here? But then the Telus guy added, "Ask the 7-11 guy. He knows everything." (This is related somewhat to the gay bar part, so pay attention.)
With bags of electronic goodies and DSL modem in hand, I started toward the 7-11 of Infinite Wisdom, until I noticed a place right across the street with a sign that read Waverly Barber Shop. That looked like my suspect. I crossed the street (at the crosswalk of course — jaywalking around here is a sin worse than not recycling your newspapers) and went inside. When I asked the friendly looking Korean woman how much for a men's haircut, she smiled and nodded her head a lot, and pointed at a clipboard that appeared out of nowhere, the line near her finger reading "Men's Haircut $15". Sounded like a deal to me.
She eagerly took my bags from me, helped me off with my jacket, and set to work. I was a little nervous, because 1) she spoke almost no English at all, so I had no idea whether she understood what I wanted (I was having Beijing haircut flashbacks, but at least there I knew enough Chinese to be able to hash it out — the only things I know in Korean are "hello", "thanks", and "barley tea", none of which would guarantee a decent hairstyle) and 2) her clipper-wielding style immediately struck me as notably unconventional. However, when things progressed from a very fastidious cleaning up any uneven spots to a straight razor neck shave, and then an eyebrow trim, I thought, wow, okay, this is pretty good stuff for $15. (Incidentally, all this time I couldn't help noticing that the little placard with all the hair dye samples on it in this case included loops of hair that were blue, orange, pink, green, and four shades of purple — I wasn't sure what to think of all that). I was so pleased with the final result that I just gave her a $20 and told her to keep the rest, and she was so ecstatic she told me to come back again a lot, and gave me a discount card ("Eight time, get free haircut!") and a free pen and a business card ("My name Ann. See here. What you name? How spell?"). I think I have a new haircut friend.
I took my new Korean haircut back to the apartment, found Ivan asleep on the stairs with his legs hanging off both sides (they're the open-on-the-back kind of steps), hung around the apartment a bit, and then ran down to the grocery store across the street. My grocery shopping experience was pretty good, though I found out there's no such thing as pimiento cheese here, which is kind of disappointing, because I was looking for foods which required the least amount of cookware to prepare and tableware to serve (seeing as how I have almost none of either. On the other hand, there was lots of other good stuff to be had. With a few uninteresting exceptions, my grocery trip included the following: wheat "brown" bread, canned tuna, canned salmon, mayonnaise, a bottle of milk, grapefruit juice (at least they have my favorite grapefruit + tangerine juice here), frozen macaroni, frozen pizza, nutella, cappuccino Nescafe (no coffee maker yet), instant soup, honey, V8 juice, granola cereal, a package of two Crazy Rags, some plastic container bowls, and a coffee mug. I also decided there's something inherently wrong with the phrase "Fajitas aux Poulet." Maybe it's just me.
After getting back home and getting settled, I suddenly found myself in the mood for some wine. Upon some thought, I realized that every apartment I've moved into or out of in the past many years has been christened by the drinking of a bottle of wine, so suddenly it became a traditional imperative. The problem was that I don't know a wine store in this neighborhood yet, though. Suddenly remembering the words of the Telus guy, however, I thought, "I'll ask the convenience store guy — he knows everything."
So I went downstairs and ducked into the convenience store. The guy recognized me from when I'd run down there for an emergency toilet paper journey earlier today (these things happen, okay?). I asked where I could buy a bottle of wine around here. "Go to the Dufferin Pub at the end of the street," he answered. "Great, thanks," I said.
I walked to the end of the block and crossed the street. I stepped into the Dufferin pub.
A rather jovial looking guy immediately inside was in the process of hanging beer signs, and looked at me and said, "Pints, $6.99, eh?" I glanced around and saw another sign which read, "Dufferin Pub, serving Vancouver's gay community since 1978." Indeed, upon looking around, there were several pairs of guys on the dance floor that were really getting their groove on. It was really cute, actually, in a gay sort of way. "Where can I get wine to go?" I asked. "Oh, go back outside, and around the side, and come in the back door, under the blue awning."
So I did. Coming in the back door, I was surprised to find that I was still in the same bar, just a different entrance. (I'd expected a different place altogether, and would have just walked through it if I'd known it was all connected, rather than go back out in the cold.) Anyway, I selected a bottle of dry red wine (nearly everything they had was Canadian, so I sort of had to settle), paid the bartender guy his $12, and started back home.
Immediately out on the street, a shady looking guy saw me with my little brown paper bag, and said, "Hey man, you want some rock?" I glared at him. "No offense man. What about some BC Bud?" I was actually a little tempted on that one, but decided just to head back home with my wine and keep it to that.
Gay bar. Crack dealer. All in one night. Crazy.
Anyway, that's the story. Once I got back here I drank my wine and talked to friends online figured out how to get iTunes to upload individual songs to the iPod, and made the frightening discovery of "We're sorry. iTunes Store is currently not yet available in your country." (Much suck). I've discovered that after having much of it in China that I've rather developed a taste for Nescafe in spite of myself. And I made some frozen macaroni in my oven. And played with the cat. And now it's about time to go to bed.