(My Bike Rally Blog will be continued shortly. Patience! There's a lot there! Check below for Day Three Pictures and Story. But I just HAD to throw this in....)
I caught a review of this movie awhile back, and my knee jerk reaction to rave reviews is to run from them, but the premise for this movie sounded intriguing; an inner-city junior high school teacher with a drug habit forms an unlikely friendship with one of his students after she discovers his secret. “Whoa!” I thought to myself, “That sure as hell ain’t “Goodbye Mr.Chips”.
So I went down to the Varsity today and caught the matinee with my friend Stephanie, whose critical eye is sharper than mine, and thought, let’s see what SHE thinks. In short, she was blown away, as was I.
To begin with, if this movie doesn’t make Ryan Gosling a bonafied SERIOUS movie-star of the Adrien Brody, Heath Ledger variety, then I’ll eat one of Hedda Hopper’s hats. (Or a reasonable facsimile thereof.) The same can be said no less for his young co-star Shareeka Epps, who is simply stunning. This young actress can convey more emotion with absolute stillness in her face than most actors can with two pages of dialogue.
Apart from the two lead performances, the script was one of the best written original screenplays I’ve seen in years. The dialogue was terse, to the point and unbelaboured. Screenwriter Anna Boden should be seriously held up as a national resource out in Hollywood. This woman can write, (and edit no less!) and God knows, they can use that out there. Kudos must also go to director Ryan Fleck, who never let the pace flag and kept us tensely on the edge of our seats the entire time. He managed that near impossible feat of keeping us sympathetic to largely unsympathetic characters. He doesn’t excuse or condemn his characters' failings, and doesn’t present them with any bias or judgement, he lets the audience figure them out for themselves. How refreshing to have a piece of art assume the audience has a brain.
That being said, I do have a bit of a beef with the penultimate scene, where it all comes colliding together, in that the music score kept intruding on the action of the scene, which was very delicate. I thought the whole scene played in silence would have been much more effective than having the score try to manipulate me into how it thought I should feel about what was happening. But that was my only complaint. The rest of the movie was magical.
One of the lovely things about this movie (in a sea of lovely things) was that none of it was predictable. You really couldn’t see what was coming around the corner next. You knew Dan (Gosling’s character) was inevitably going to crash somehow, and you knew Drey (Epps’ character) was going to have some major decisions to make at a very young age about how she was going to live her life. You just didn’t know how or why. Every time you saw a scene being played out and you thought, “Oh God, this is gonna happen, why is he/she doing THAT?” something would come along to flip the whole thing on its ear, and never once come close to straining the credibility of the story. The screenplay is brilliantly plotted and never flags. If Boden doesn’t win the Oscar for best original screenplay this year, the Academy should be officially declared incompetent and sent to the Knots Landing Home for the Officially Obtuse.
The performances, well, my God, I could go on for hours about the performances. Gosling is a revelation. Absolutely consistent, even in his ugliest moments. There are moments he has where you marvel at the depths he’s plumbing in this character’s freefall. We’re never told why Dan is an addict, we only know that he is. Later on, when we see him at a family dinner, and watch his parents gleefully put away the wine and scotch at a clip that would fell Joan Crawford and Ernest Hemingway respectively, you realize without ever being told that Dan’s addiction is perfectly natural, he grew up with addicts, why on earth shouldn't he be one? The only difference is that being an alcoholic is only slightly more socially acceptable than being a crack head. Like his rambling dissertations on dialecticals to his classes, its only a question of degrees, otherwise, there’s very little difference in their lives. It doesn't belabour this point, or even make it a plot point. Its simply an observation of his life. Like everything in this movie, it makes no judgements.
Dan is a good teacher, and he likes what he does, he’s inventive and the kids obviously like and respect him. He’s the girl’s basketball coach, and he’s passionately involved with these kids’ welfare. He cares about them. Likewise, Drey is a tough kid, but sensitive and generous to the plight of her overworked mother. She doesn't blame her for never being there, nor does she blame anyone, she merely offers that "Nobody has to worry about me." as she can take care of herself. She does it without self-pity, because she knows she really has no choice. But she's still a young girl who is desperately lonely, and realizes that through his haze, Dan is desperately lonely too. They make a contact of sorts after she discovers him using in the girl's locker room after a dismal basketball game, and they become spiritual cohorts. Like Forster's Malabar Caves, they are two lost souls who hear each others' resonant echoes of anguish and loneliness.
One rather disturbing moment comes at a dance when Dan charmingly gets this tough young girl to dance, but then appears to be unable to let go of her, taken by surprise it seems by the revelation that he needs her as much as she needs him. The point that he is her teacher and a grown man and she's his student and a young girl, pushes the uncomfortable incongruity of their relationship even further to the edge. He is aware that she's a kid, and berates her at one point for not leaving him alone, and she is aware on some subconscious level that his worry for her may be self-serving and may not be entirely healthy (his attempted rape of a colleague he is dating later on bares this out all too disturbingly) and she keeps her distance. In doing so, she makes the closer acquaintance of Frank, the local dealer who landed her brother in jail. She turns to him because he is paternal, the big brother she's lost, and the sort of older male figure whom she cannot seem to do without. Drey's fate depends on whether she can choose between the stability of Frank who is amoral, or the instability of Dan, who is disintegrating, yet fundamentally decent. In having the two push and pull on either side of her, the crucible of the girl's character is annealed. She is the strongest character in the film, and ultimately the one character who makes a choice in determining their fate.
Dan's disintegration is the map of the film and to watch it is alternately horrific and fascinating. In his brief homecoming with his suburban family, we see that his parents are ex-hippies who are passionately interested in civil rights and demonstrations, and are in fact the seemingly progressive yuppie parents who once thought they could change the world. They love their kids, and are apparently happy. The mother is oblivious to her son’s pain, assuming he is happy because he tells her he is, not bothering to notice through her wine glaze that he is disintegrating in front of her eyes. His father sees something amiss, but cannot face it because it is all too evident that the same demons lurk within him. The man has to load himself up on enough Scotch before he can even mumble to his son that he loves him. These people say they have passionate convictions, but that’s a lie. They anesthetise themselves to avoid feeling anything at all, indeed, one gets the feeling that they’re terrified of feeling anything or facing the truth about themselves for fear of what they might dredge up. In that sense, Dan’s drug addiction is perfectly normal. He’s grown up learning that numbing the senses is what you do when the pain of life gets too intense; you dull it, however you can. The genius (and I use the word advisedly) of this film is that it gives you all of this in such subtle ways that you really don’t grasp all of it until long after the film is over.
Gosling’s haunted eyes and slurred staccato speech belie the warmth of someone who actively gives a damn even while he’s destroying himself. Likewise, Epps' portrayal of Drey’s fortress of defences make her unbearable loneliness even that more poignant. When she steels herself to ask her teacher for a ride home because the child can’t face one more day of going back to an empty apartment, its enough to make one weep at the sheer courage on her face, trying to mask that naked need. Out of such moments is art made.
Go see this movie. Indy films being what they are, it probably won’t be out for long, so do yourself a favour and gobble it up fast while its here. In this summer fare of lightweight fluff, this movie of searing intensity and wit is to be savoured and remembered. I keep thinking of what the famous movie director Vincent Minnelli said, when asked about movies, he noted that "if a movie doesn’t haunt you for awhile after you’ve seen it, then it can’t have meant very much." By that estimation, and judging by most of the audience who sat riveted to their seats as the last credits rolled, Half Nelson means very much indeed.
Monday, September 11, 2006
DAY THREE - Pictures!!
Queen's Residence, with the lot of us just arriving.....
Me in the Queen's Caf my cohorts at work built....
Bruce and I finally got there. Margaritas ensued.
James, Luis and Bill. The Ruby Slipper Throwdown. Don't ask.
Sunset in Kingston
Me in the Queen's Caf my cohorts at work built....
Bruce and I finally got there. Margaritas ensued.
James, Luis and Bill. The Ruby Slipper Throwdown. Don't ask.
Sunset in Kingston
Sunday, September 03, 2006
DAY THREE - ADOLPHUSTOWN TO KINGSTON - 50 kms
The next day I got up early, as my team, Chain Gang, was due to help out serving the breakfast. I’ve been able to gauge the time during the days, and oddly enough, at night by simply looking at the sky. Daytime its easy, because you can tell by the sun. It’s the original Big Ben. At night, I can usually tell by how bright the sky is getting. Its very different at five a.m. than it is at three a.m. Although it gets tricky around four. But still, if you pay attention to these things, (and evidently I’ve been enough of a nightowl in my life that I had) you can learn some useful tricks. I didn’t have a watch on me, or any other time-telling device, and to tell the truth, really didn’t need them, as my guesses, when I officially confirmed them, were never that far off.
Breakfast was fun. We ate earlier than everybody else, and then came and helped dish it out. I was Raisin Bran Guy. Its popular stuff. I ran through two or three boxes. Which was better than Guy (Yes, that was his name) who was working beside me. He was Cottage Cheese Guy. At six a.m., that is definitely not the guy you wanna be. Have you seen it? You must have. I know its good for you and is ludicrously high in protein and all that, but I still think it looks like lumpy, regurgitated albino cat-sick. The cottage cheese I mean. Not Guy. He looks like a god. He may be high in protein too, but I wouldn't know. If Ken was Apollonian, then this one is definitely Dionysius. He’s got that sleepy-eyed, laughingly evil “I just got laid while you suckers were playing Bingo for peanuts” look. Sigh. There is little justice. Whenever I attempt that look, all I get offered are Rolaids.
I finished off breakfast duty, helped clean up, and then ran back to take down my tent, (I had packed all my other stuff in the bins already) only to find that Gilbert, sweetheart that he is, had already done the job. AND packed the tent-fly. His reasoning was, that I was already helping out with breakfast, it was the least he could do. What a gem.
We had our announcements, where James won the best facial award and I tried to convince him to wear it into Kingston, but he came up with some foolishness about it being hard to see through cucumber slices or some such rot. Holy face-peeling divas, Batman. We did our stretches, (always important before putting your body through any rigorous program, like say, 50 – 100 km bike rides) and I seem to be getting better at them; I’m not falling over so much. One of the awards was the “Better Late Than Never Award” which this guy Yves got as he joined us at 2:00 in the morning, after flying an emergency refugee plane back from Lebanon. He then slept four hours, got up and biked with us to Kingston. People constantly amaze you on this trip.
Today was Superhero day, and there were a few hither and yon, Ian went as Superman, and David K., went as SOMEthing, not quite sure what, but he was in some yellow print dress that a widow from Texarkana with a beehive wouldn’t be caught dead in, and was a visible beacon from MILES away. It was another beautiful morning, and the ride out was largely by water. Until we got to Kingston and its outer environs, you only had to look to your right to see the water and smell the breeze, which was slightly intoxicating. I think at this point, we were still on Lake Ontario, and hadn't yet progressed on the St.Lawrence seaway proper. I think that there must be something to the air from off the water, in that it must give you some sort of endorphin rush, as I was grinning the whole ride there. I had the same experience, the first time I stood in front of the Pacific Ocean when I went to Victoria. Then I just thought it was the sea air, but now I think its all large bodies of water. It must do something to the spirit, or at least the chemical whatdoyoucall'ems, to quote Noel Coward. I found myself grinning a lot on this trip actually, either near the water or not. The people made it fun for me, and their energy and enthusiasm had a tonic effect on my spirit. I'll never forget it.
I biked out with Gilbert again, which was great, because we basically go the same speed, although if the truth be told, he's much faster than me. Thank God he's got a heavy old mountain bike or I'd never catch up with him. It was neat, as we'd pass other people in tandem (I never pass ANYBODY, in fact, there were times on this ride where I seriously considered changing my name to "LEFT!" or "ON YOUR LEFT!", as I kept hearing it so much when people would go gliding by me...) which was a novelty for me. James would tell me later how he and Bruce, Bill and Luis and Henry had this revolving kind of ride thing going, where they would ride (while going forward, don't get confused yet) in a clockwise circular motion, where somebody would block the wind at the front, leaving the person behind him free of headwind. They would then rotate, one would move ahead and to the right, while one would fall back. It sounded fascinating, but unfortunately I never managed to do it, as I couldn't keep up with anyone! Next year I'll give it a whirl, and pray the hypnotic motion of it doesn't lull me to sleep.
At any rate, the ride into Kingston was warm and sunny and fast. We went up a large hill towards the prison (after coming down an even larger one with directions to watch ahead for the sudden light changes at the base of the hill) which was on the other side of the university. I hadn't known what to expect of the prison, and it was forbidding, but not as Bastille-like as I'd expected. Perhaps my visions of heads mounted on pikes above the prison walls, was a little overwrought, or perhaps I was really thinking of the university after a football game. Nevertheless, we made a few more turns down sun-dappled streets, and then voila! We were at Queen's in front of the residence we were to stay in. A large grey edifice dating from the mid-sixties or thereabouts, I'd guess. We all met up out front, got our rooms, and went to the cafeteria next door for free pizza. The cafeteria puzzled me because it was obviously, brand spanking new, and it seemed familiar, and then it hit me. We built this sucker! The architecture firm I work at, I mean. DSAI. We built it. So THIS was the Queen's Cafeteria I'd sent out so many invoices on. Cool. James took a picture of me writing in my journal seated in one of the booths that could easily seat 20 people, and I put it on my desktop screensaver when I got back to work. Everybody was like, "What's HE doing in that picture? Was there a site visit to Queen's we missed? Where's his hardhat?" Ah, architects. Gotta love'em.
My room was quite exciting. Evidently I lucked out because I had my own bathroom, c/w bath and shower and I DIDN'T HAVE TO SHARE!!! After three days of communal bathrooms this was an unheard of luxury. AND I was on the ground floor, so it didn't swelter at night, AND it was easy to haul my stuff out to the loading area the next day. After my pizza, I showered, wrote in my journal and wandered down into town with Jeff, bought a book at a cute little bookshop (yes, there ARE some independents left! Hoorah!!) and had an ice-cream cone. Walked back, Jeff took some pictures, and then I changed and headed out to see if I could find James. I ran into David, Jodi, Deb, Rodney and a guy I didn't know named Bruce waiting by a large garbage can to catch a cab. I don't know if this is how one routinely gets public transportation in Kingston, but I wasn't about to show off my gaucherie by asking. They invited me to dinner with them, which was sweet, they were going to eat at a Best Western restaurant that Jodi's cousin was a sous-chef at. The latent snob rose in me and seized the reins. Now I don't know really what a Best Western meal would taste like, I'm sure its rather good. But I imagine its like any other Best Western you go to. I had never been to Kingston before, and call me crazy, but I thought it would be novel to actually EAT at someplace distinctly exclusive to Kingston. So I declined, and said I was going to go and find James instead. I DID have tentative plans with him after all. Then Rodney said Bruce was waiting with them to catch a cab into town to meet James at this mexican restaurant. I said I was going to walk, so Bruce said he'd come with me. He seemed a little intense, and a bit irritated, and then after we walked away, he swore for five whole minutes about how slow the %$#@!! cab was in getting there! I smiled and nodded and agreed, as who was I to argue with a certifiable maniac? Especially one who cussed as well as he did? I just skipped along on beside him, and did my wide-eyed waif smile, all the while wondering what kind of sociopathic case with rage issues I'd got myself stuck with THIS time. Well, he was fine. In less than five minutes, he was smiling and within seven he was laughing, partially because James kept phoning him on his Blackberry demanding to know where we were every two minutes. We couldn't find the place, which James swore was called TACO GRANDE, (it wasn't, it was something like NACHO LIBRE or something completely different) and why weren't we there yet? James has patience issues sometimes. Ahem. We finally arrived to find him, Luis and Bill on their THIRD margarita. These weren't small, tiny, little glasses either. These were blue fishbowls with stems, that held sixteen ounces of booze each! Hell, they could have had reef sharks swimming around these suckers and still had room for ice! I promptly had two, Bruce had two and the other three lushbags had a third and fourth! At the end of the night Bruce thought he had had THREE, but I showed him the bill and said it only FELT like three. I couldn't find a bank machine on the way over, and he thoughtfully spotted me until I could find one. What a mensch. At any rate, after James declined a fifth margarita, at some point during all of this, a dubious enterprise entitled "THE RUBY SLIPPER THROWDOWN" was born. Don't ask me to explain it, I can't remember it, (time and tequila have destroyed too many braincells in the ensuing weeks) except that it warn't pretty kids. I believe James came up with the term. It became a nom de guerre for the rest of the trip. Not long after, we all ate some delicious fajitas, served by the most grateful gay waiter I'd ever seen (possibly the only gay waiter in all of Kingston) named Chris, (I knew he was gay at once; he had Ava Gardner eyebrows) and then we headed over to a party that was being held for us in (I believe) Kinston's only gay bar, the Grad Club. It was housed in a lovely old mansion (think of the Keg mansion as a gay bar, and you'll get the idea) and the four of us piled out onto the deck where James started to quiz this quiet, shy guy named.....can't remember, (I was onto beer by this point) and grilled him so full of questions that I asked him where he thought we were, a W5 stakeout? Which I suppose, would have made him Hana Gartner. I met Ken again, and his bug bite had cleared up considerably. Charming, soft-spoken, wonderfully funny, gorgeouser than ever, and of course, yes, you guessed it, still happily hitched. Sigh. Anyway, it was all great fun to be hanging out in a bar and drinking with this bunch. They were as much fun at a bar as I thought they'd be. Of course, in the midst of all this frivolity, the thought did dawn on us that we still had to get up and BIKE the next day!
I got back to bed at around one o'clock. An unheard of hour, considering what we've been doing all this week. Nonetheless, I was up at an ungodly early hour, finished all of my devoirs, and was basically waiting for something to happen. All of my stuff was packed up and there I was, looking oh-so glamourous at six in the morning, (NOT!) so I met up with Luis, and we sat out front and waited for the festivities to begin......
Breakfast was fun. We ate earlier than everybody else, and then came and helped dish it out. I was Raisin Bran Guy. Its popular stuff. I ran through two or three boxes. Which was better than Guy (Yes, that was his name) who was working beside me. He was Cottage Cheese Guy. At six a.m., that is definitely not the guy you wanna be. Have you seen it? You must have. I know its good for you and is ludicrously high in protein and all that, but I still think it looks like lumpy, regurgitated albino cat-sick. The cottage cheese I mean. Not Guy. He looks like a god. He may be high in protein too, but I wouldn't know. If Ken was Apollonian, then this one is definitely Dionysius. He’s got that sleepy-eyed, laughingly evil “I just got laid while you suckers were playing Bingo for peanuts” look. Sigh. There is little justice. Whenever I attempt that look, all I get offered are Rolaids.
I finished off breakfast duty, helped clean up, and then ran back to take down my tent, (I had packed all my other stuff in the bins already) only to find that Gilbert, sweetheart that he is, had already done the job. AND packed the tent-fly. His reasoning was, that I was already helping out with breakfast, it was the least he could do. What a gem.
We had our announcements, where James won the best facial award and I tried to convince him to wear it into Kingston, but he came up with some foolishness about it being hard to see through cucumber slices or some such rot. Holy face-peeling divas, Batman. We did our stretches, (always important before putting your body through any rigorous program, like say, 50 – 100 km bike rides) and I seem to be getting better at them; I’m not falling over so much. One of the awards was the “Better Late Than Never Award” which this guy Yves got as he joined us at 2:00 in the morning, after flying an emergency refugee plane back from Lebanon. He then slept four hours, got up and biked with us to Kingston. People constantly amaze you on this trip.
Today was Superhero day, and there were a few hither and yon, Ian went as Superman, and David K., went as SOMEthing, not quite sure what, but he was in some yellow print dress that a widow from Texarkana with a beehive wouldn’t be caught dead in, and was a visible beacon from MILES away. It was another beautiful morning, and the ride out was largely by water. Until we got to Kingston and its outer environs, you only had to look to your right to see the water and smell the breeze, which was slightly intoxicating. I think at this point, we were still on Lake Ontario, and hadn't yet progressed on the St.Lawrence seaway proper. I think that there must be something to the air from off the water, in that it must give you some sort of endorphin rush, as I was grinning the whole ride there. I had the same experience, the first time I stood in front of the Pacific Ocean when I went to Victoria. Then I just thought it was the sea air, but now I think its all large bodies of water. It must do something to the spirit, or at least the chemical whatdoyoucall'ems, to quote Noel Coward. I found myself grinning a lot on this trip actually, either near the water or not. The people made it fun for me, and their energy and enthusiasm had a tonic effect on my spirit. I'll never forget it.
I biked out with Gilbert again, which was great, because we basically go the same speed, although if the truth be told, he's much faster than me. Thank God he's got a heavy old mountain bike or I'd never catch up with him. It was neat, as we'd pass other people in tandem (I never pass ANYBODY, in fact, there were times on this ride where I seriously considered changing my name to "LEFT!" or "ON YOUR LEFT!", as I kept hearing it so much when people would go gliding by me...) which was a novelty for me. James would tell me later how he and Bruce, Bill and Luis and Henry had this revolving kind of ride thing going, where they would ride (while going forward, don't get confused yet) in a clockwise circular motion, where somebody would block the wind at the front, leaving the person behind him free of headwind. They would then rotate, one would move ahead and to the right, while one would fall back. It sounded fascinating, but unfortunately I never managed to do it, as I couldn't keep up with anyone! Next year I'll give it a whirl, and pray the hypnotic motion of it doesn't lull me to sleep.
At any rate, the ride into Kingston was warm and sunny and fast. We went up a large hill towards the prison (after coming down an even larger one with directions to watch ahead for the sudden light changes at the base of the hill) which was on the other side of the university. I hadn't known what to expect of the prison, and it was forbidding, but not as Bastille-like as I'd expected. Perhaps my visions of heads mounted on pikes above the prison walls, was a little overwrought, or perhaps I was really thinking of the university after a football game. Nevertheless, we made a few more turns down sun-dappled streets, and then voila! We were at Queen's in front of the residence we were to stay in. A large grey edifice dating from the mid-sixties or thereabouts, I'd guess. We all met up out front, got our rooms, and went to the cafeteria next door for free pizza. The cafeteria puzzled me because it was obviously, brand spanking new, and it seemed familiar, and then it hit me. We built this sucker! The architecture firm I work at, I mean. DSAI. We built it. So THIS was the Queen's Cafeteria I'd sent out so many invoices on. Cool. James took a picture of me writing in my journal seated in one of the booths that could easily seat 20 people, and I put it on my desktop screensaver when I got back to work. Everybody was like, "What's HE doing in that picture? Was there a site visit to Queen's we missed? Where's his hardhat?" Ah, architects. Gotta love'em.
My room was quite exciting. Evidently I lucked out because I had my own bathroom, c/w bath and shower and I DIDN'T HAVE TO SHARE!!! After three days of communal bathrooms this was an unheard of luxury. AND I was on the ground floor, so it didn't swelter at night, AND it was easy to haul my stuff out to the loading area the next day. After my pizza, I showered, wrote in my journal and wandered down into town with Jeff, bought a book at a cute little bookshop (yes, there ARE some independents left! Hoorah!!) and had an ice-cream cone. Walked back, Jeff took some pictures, and then I changed and headed out to see if I could find James. I ran into David, Jodi, Deb, Rodney and a guy I didn't know named Bruce waiting by a large garbage can to catch a cab. I don't know if this is how one routinely gets public transportation in Kingston, but I wasn't about to show off my gaucherie by asking. They invited me to dinner with them, which was sweet, they were going to eat at a Best Western restaurant that Jodi's cousin was a sous-chef at. The latent snob rose in me and seized the reins. Now I don't know really what a Best Western meal would taste like, I'm sure its rather good. But I imagine its like any other Best Western you go to. I had never been to Kingston before, and call me crazy, but I thought it would be novel to actually EAT at someplace distinctly exclusive to Kingston. So I declined, and said I was going to go and find James instead. I DID have tentative plans with him after all. Then Rodney said Bruce was waiting with them to catch a cab into town to meet James at this mexican restaurant. I said I was going to walk, so Bruce said he'd come with me. He seemed a little intense, and a bit irritated, and then after we walked away, he swore for five whole minutes about how slow the %$#@!! cab was in getting there! I smiled and nodded and agreed, as who was I to argue with a certifiable maniac? Especially one who cussed as well as he did? I just skipped along on beside him, and did my wide-eyed waif smile, all the while wondering what kind of sociopathic case with rage issues I'd got myself stuck with THIS time. Well, he was fine. In less than five minutes, he was smiling and within seven he was laughing, partially because James kept phoning him on his Blackberry demanding to know where we were every two minutes. We couldn't find the place, which James swore was called TACO GRANDE, (it wasn't, it was something like NACHO LIBRE or something completely different) and why weren't we there yet? James has patience issues sometimes. Ahem. We finally arrived to find him, Luis and Bill on their THIRD margarita. These weren't small, tiny, little glasses either. These were blue fishbowls with stems, that held sixteen ounces of booze each! Hell, they could have had reef sharks swimming around these suckers and still had room for ice! I promptly had two, Bruce had two and the other three lushbags had a third and fourth! At the end of the night Bruce thought he had had THREE, but I showed him the bill and said it only FELT like three. I couldn't find a bank machine on the way over, and he thoughtfully spotted me until I could find one. What a mensch. At any rate, after James declined a fifth margarita, at some point during all of this, a dubious enterprise entitled "THE RUBY SLIPPER THROWDOWN" was born. Don't ask me to explain it, I can't remember it, (time and tequila have destroyed too many braincells in the ensuing weeks) except that it warn't pretty kids. I believe James came up with the term. It became a nom de guerre for the rest of the trip. Not long after, we all ate some delicious fajitas, served by the most grateful gay waiter I'd ever seen (possibly the only gay waiter in all of Kingston) named Chris, (I knew he was gay at once; he had Ava Gardner eyebrows) and then we headed over to a party that was being held for us in (I believe) Kinston's only gay bar, the Grad Club. It was housed in a lovely old mansion (think of the Keg mansion as a gay bar, and you'll get the idea) and the four of us piled out onto the deck where James started to quiz this quiet, shy guy named.....can't remember, (I was onto beer by this point) and grilled him so full of questions that I asked him where he thought we were, a W5 stakeout? Which I suppose, would have made him Hana Gartner. I met Ken again, and his bug bite had cleared up considerably. Charming, soft-spoken, wonderfully funny, gorgeouser than ever, and of course, yes, you guessed it, still happily hitched. Sigh. Anyway, it was all great fun to be hanging out in a bar and drinking with this bunch. They were as much fun at a bar as I thought they'd be. Of course, in the midst of all this frivolity, the thought did dawn on us that we still had to get up and BIKE the next day!
I got back to bed at around one o'clock. An unheard of hour, considering what we've been doing all this week. Nonetheless, I was up at an ungodly early hour, finished all of my devoirs, and was basically waiting for something to happen. All of my stuff was packed up and there I was, looking oh-so glamourous at six in the morning, (NOT!) so I met up with Luis, and we sat out front and waited for the festivities to begin......
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